Harry Potter: The Black Hand
by Priest To The Old Ones
Summary: After running away from his relatives a young Harry is found by a very old friend of his family. Raised and trained in secret to bring about a much needed change how will the world react to a child of prophecy brought up by the cold, black hands of death itself. Dark not evil OP Harry x harem. rated M for later blood, gore and possible limes.
1. Escape

OK so this is my first story and I'm very nervous about how it will do. I would like to apologize about the sloppy first chapter. I've never been good at writing intros to stories and have always hated doing so. I will try my best on the next chapter and should do better now that I don't have to introduce the story and can cut right into the meat.

So about the story. This story will be a little dark in its themes and events once we reach book 4-5. I'm not talking major main character deaths here or rape just that the actions of the death eaters and other parts of the wizarding world are going to be a little more fucked up. i plan on following the books up until then before i start making drastic changes and writing my own events. meaning that Harry will still do the whole sorcerers stone, chamber of secrets, PoA plot events. I'll just be changing how he resolves them. also fair warning, I watch the Harry Potter movies, I have not read all of the books. I HAVE been reading a lot of fan-fiction and official info about HP and I do own all of the books, I'm just having a real issue with procrastination and reading right now that I'm FINALLY starting to come out of. right now I'm on book 3. so I apologize in advance if I write something that goes against a major event in later books but as I said I will be going way the fuck off cannon after book 4.

So the plot. this story will be a Harry x Harem story. im going to release the list in a few chapters and open a poll for two characters im on the fence about adding. i will say though that I have 8 women for the harem, one for each Title Harry will carry later on. you can probably guess the first 7 titles but the 8th will be a bit of a surprise but not unseen in fanfiction. and no he will not be getting all of his titles at once. he will get the first 6 in book 3 but the other 2 he will earn.

Harry will be dark in this fic. not anti social prick, I want nothing to do with any of you and ill kill you if you don't move dark, more I'm well versed in the dark arts and ill fucking kill you if you're an enemy or it furthers my goals. he will be nice to people he likes but not entirely at first. ALSO this WILL be and OP Harry story so if you don't like those then I'm sorry but that's how its going to be. and I'm talking OP in his first year and its only going to go up from there. he will be TRAINED to this level, none of that here's a fuck ton of power and now your +9 cock of the unholy can destroy all foes shit. oh and no lemons, I really don't want to write any for this story. maybe a few heavy limes and implied sex for way the fuck latter chapters if you guys want but no lemons.

Also slight Ron, Molly, and Dumbledore bashing. They wont be turned into the usual manipulative a-holes, more that Harry really wont like them at first for various reasons.

One finally important thing. As i said I have a terrible problem with procrastination and with work and some personal stress I'm having I have no idea when the next chapter will come. hopefully now that I got the intro out of the way I'll be able to write more. I WILL NOT ABANDON THIS STORY, I fucking hate it when people do that. All I'm saying is that if you like this fic then fav/follow. Just don't check your alerts for an update every day or week.

With all that done with I hope you enjoy the first chapter. please review and if/when you do please do not hold back your criticism. I wont learn if you go all soft on me, plus I'm a big boy I can take it.

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If one were to have asked any of the surrounding neighbors of Number 4 Pivet Drive about the family that lived there they would hear the same thing from each one, that the Dursleys are an upstanding model of a truly ordinary and successful family as well as proud and beloved members of their community. The man and bread-winner of the house, Vernon Dursley, is the successful director of the Grunnings Drilling Manufacturing Company and loving husband and father to his wife of 20 years and their child. Vernon was also a well-known authority figure both in and outside of the office and fierce defender of his wife's happiness, along with being an esteemed graduate of Smeltings Academy.

As for his wife, she was none other than the lovely Petunia Dursley, beloved house wife and mother. She would be described as an elegant woman with fine but ordinary taste in all things from clothing to the wall paper in the sitting room.

And finally their son, Dudley Dursley also known as their "ickle Dudleykins" was a large, upstart child that was spoi-I mean greatly loved by his parents. He is known to be constantly surrounded by a large group of his friends at school consisting of both children from within and outside the neighborhood.

_But certainly_, one might ask,_ there must be something unique or strange about the household? After all no family, however seemingly normal they are is without flaw._ After being called a nosy-gossip by the other party, the questioner would be informed that yes; there was in fact one skeleton that Number 4 Pivet Drive held within its walls.

_And that is?_

_Their nephew, Harry James Potter._

_And what possible trouble could a child bring to a family such as the Dursleys?_

_He's a little criminal_. They would say._ They told us that his parents were members of some freak cult and that they were murdered by the leader of a rival cult. Next thing they knew he was dumped unto their doorstep the same day with some horrid ritual mark on his head and a threatening letter telling them to watch over the boy._

_Why didn't they just report it to the authorities?_

_They said that they have but every time they do or try to give the child to an orphanage he turns up right back in the house the next day and none of the officers remember ever receiving a report. Since then I've heard that he has been causing all sorts of havoc for the poor family. Apparently he sulks around the streets at night and throws rocks at the lamp posts and tips over trash cans, and then he has the nerve to go and blame it on their sweet little boy when the constable comes to their home. _

_Oh my._

_Indeed. He also does poorly in school even though his uncle is spending his hard-earned money to allow him to attend in the first place, and it's no secret that he's tried to run away no less than eight times._

_Truly?_

_Oh yes. And when the constable brings him back, in irons no less, he has the gall to make up ridicules stories about how he's abused, ABUSED! Can you believe it? As if a proper family like the Dursleys would stoop to something so low. The boy obviously doesn't know the difference between a beating and a proper punishment._

Yes, one would hear no end to the rumors and stories surrounding the _troubled _young Potter of Number 4 Pivet drive, nor would they forget after the night that the young boy went missing from the house for the final time.

TBH

If one were to approach Number 4 Pivet Drive at this moment they would not be greeted by the warm glow of the lights in the family sitting room or the boisterous laughter of said family. Instead the only sounds one would hear are the calls of sirens and the low murmurs of bystanders' barley rising above the heavy rain. Murmurs and gasps of horror aimed at the sight of the broken and bloodied, but very much alive, residents emerging from the house with the aid of paramedics.

As they were loaded onto stretchers the crowd could see a young baby whale sized child with a twisted leg and a forearm bent at an unnatural angle, an older woman whose once lovely summer gown was now tattered and torn, with both her arms bent and swollen and a small trail of blood leaked from her mouth. And finally the large mountainous form of a man who was without a shred of doubt the worst of them all. With his left leg twisted in reverse while his right was brought up to his side. His arms zigzagging from his slightly caved in torso. His once proud gray walrus like mustache and hair were stained red with blood from the now wrapped up gash in his head.

As the family was loaded and rushed off to the nearest hospital, one question was on the minds of all those who lived near. Where was young Harry Potter?

TBH

As the pulsating lights of red and blue flashed by, a shadow moved swiftly from its hiding place amongst the dumpsters and sprinted into a nearby ally. Weaving through piles of boxes and trash, climbing and jumping over fences, the shadow moved with a clear motivation. _Escape_. Coming up to the end of the ally way the shadow halted. Crouching down behind a pile of discarded furniture and clothing it waited. It's panting breaths bringing forth small clouds in the cold, stormy weather. Once again the brightly pulsating lights appeared, moving slowly as a white light was shown into the ally right above the shadows hiding spot. With bated breath the shadow waited for them to pass once more before rushing across the road and into another lining of buildings. Moving as if hell was on its heels the shadow ran, weaving in and out of ally after ally, or if unavailable, walking with slow but paced steps before the various lights of corner stores and restaurants ignoring the curious stares it received from the rare individual or couple that walked about in the storm.

As it walked the figures' mind flashed back to the events that lead up to its current situation and couldn't help but shudder at the images that played out in its head.

_A large man with a look of primal fury holding him up by his hair, a woman with a pan yelling and smashing him in the sides and a round boy standing in the background pointing and laughing at his pain and fear. He remembered as he was thrown to the floor, curled into a defensive ball as they all loomed over him screaming and laughing. He remembered that he felt a familiar feeling build up in his chest, a feeling that had long ago become a comfort to him. He remembered as it built, reacting to his fear and will of self-preservation but he tried to keep it suppressed less he give them more reasons to hurt him. He remembered as it grew, becoming to large and unbearably painful to hold down as they rained down blow after blow, shouting insult after insult. Until finally he couldn't take it and with a bloodcurdling scream, allowed his rage and fear to guide the once comforting sensation from his core into the world around him._

_An explosion shot out around him, lifting his tormenters off their feet and hurling them back over furniture and into walls. He laid there for how long he did not know before he finally lifted his head from the ground. The site of a completely trashed kitchen and the still bodies of his family greeted him. Wide eyed with disbelief he looked around him watching as each one of them laid there with no movement save the rising and falling of their chest with each haggard breath they took. Rising uncertainly to his feet he looked about the room. Water spilled from the broken faucet, a harsh wind-swept across the room from the now glass less windows, broken tables and chairs laid atop his attackers. Turning slowly he noticed what was once the wall that separated the kitchen from the sitting room was now nothing more than a large space of splintered wood and drywall._

_A sound from behind drew his attention as he saw the others begin to stir. Panicking he searched in vain hope for something that could save him from the punishment he knew he would receive once they awoke. Finding with nothing he slumped back down to the floor, resigned to his fate until something caught his eye. The door that led to the back yard was open, blow completely off its hinges. He knew that it would most likely be a futile attempt, having tried several times in the past. He knew that even if he did succeed he had nowhere to go and, having no knowledge on how to survive on his own, would most likely starve to death. But he didn't care. Anything had to be better than what he was forced to go through regularly. And with that final thought he gathered himself and bolted from the house and into the backyard before climbing over the fence into the neighbors'. Not noticing the large group of people and the flashing lights that were converging to the house._

He smiled to himself at the memories. At the time the site of the damage he had caused gave him a deep sense of dread only to be replaced by hope and childish joy as he got farther and farther from that horrid place. The joy was short-lived however as another set of images played across his eyes, images of twisted and mangled forms and the look of abstract horror that shown in their still faces. The screams of warning that turned to ones shock and pain only to be silenced in an instant, and the deep, almost feral sense of rage that filled him that was washed aside by the disgust he felt for himself at what he had done. Bringing a hand to his mouth to fight off the rising bile he shook himself. Now wasn't the time.

Turning the final corner of the street the shadow came upon an open cluster of factor buildings, behind which laid a tall, thick forest. Before he could take a step the sound of sirens and screeching tires met its ears. Whipping around he saw three police cars pull up on the side-walk behind him. Frozen in fear the shadow watched as a large hulking form of a man stepped out of his car and moved towards him.

Shining his light at the shadow the officer saw a figure that match the description he received over the radio about a missing child. A short, skinny form of a boy no older than six stood before the officer trembling in the rain. The boy wore an overly large dirty white hoodie with equally large blue-jeans and no shoes. The reflection of his light shone of the boys cracked glasses and he could see that the rain made his dark red shoulder length hair cling to his face.

"Potter?" The officer asked as his companions exited their cars. The boy's head turned to gaze at each one. Getting no response he asked again.

"Harry James Potter"

The boy's head turned back to him, bright green eyes staring into his.

"Is your name Harry Potter?"

Getting a nod the officer raised his hands in a non threatening gesture and stepped closer. "It's alright son. My name is Officer Davis." Still getting no response he continued. "Can you tell me what happened son, how did you get out here, what happened back at the house?" Davis asked to the boy as calmly as he could. The report stated that the child went missing from his home after someone broke in and assaulted the family, but with the victims still unconscious they weren't able to receive an accurate report of what happened. The only reason they knew about the child in the first place was because a frail old woman had approached the responding officers and asked about the child's' health. When they said that they hadn't seen a second boy in the house and there was nothing to suggest that another child lived there she went frantic and described the boys profile and that he was living with the family as an adoptee. Now a case of assault had a possible kidnapping added to it.

Harry took a step back making the officer halt his approach. "I-I wont go back." He stuttered, his form shaking from fear and the cold rain. "You c-cant make me, I WONT GO!"

Davis knelt down to level his eyes with the child trying to calm him, it didn't work. The second the officer dropped his guard Harry turned around and bolted straight for the tree line.

Ignoring the cries of the officers to stop Harry continued to run until he finally raced past the first line of trees. he could hear their foot-steps behind him, closing in fast.

"I won't go back!" he screamed over his shoulder hysteria lacing his voice, and then a hand grabbed his hood.

He was lifted off his feet, kicking, scratching and screaming curses as his limbs were restrained by the other officers. Blinding fear gripped his heart as he heard one of them state that they would bring him to the same hospital his relatives were being cared for in, and once again that familiar feeling raged inside of him, churning and pounding for release. And he let it loose unhindered.

The pain that he felt in those next moments clouded all other sensations. It felt as if every cell in his chest and skull was stretched and split. But he could still see. He could see as a near blinding red light erupted from him. He could see how the forms off the officers froze in place, shrinking and fading till there was only bone left, and that to faded. and then all went black.

TBH

When he finally opened his eye the first thing he noticed was that it was still dark and raining. Sitting up on his elbows he looked about him. He noticed that there was absolutely no sign of what had just happened. No evidence to what he had just done. No signs to the fact that he had, once again, taken more lives with his strange power. This time he allowed the bile to pour from his throat. Rolling to his hands and knees, coughing and spitting the taste from his mouth as he gathered himself.

When he finally calmed he stood using a tree as support. He turned his mind to other matters, eager to distract himself from his guilt. What to do now? This was not the first time he had managed to avoid being captured and returned by the police, having done so several times in the past. No, the hardest and most frightening part was what came after. He would wander around until his energy was sapped and he fell asleep wherever he could hide himself, and when he woke he would be back on his sheets under the stairs. Locked in his cupboard as if nothing had ever happened. It frightened him. How was he always discovered, how had he returned and who returned him? His mind reasoned that he should attempt to stay awake this time, to ward off this cruel act of god for truly a god or gods must be at work. Wanting to see their favorite sheep struggle amongst the wolves.

But he was tired. Oh so tired, and the calming patter of the rain on his skin and the world around him was making it hard to ward off the feeling. He began walking, hoping against hope that it would stave off the impending sleep and if not then at least carry him far enough to avoid being discovered by anyone that came searching for him in the forest. After what felt like an hour he finally came upon a small hole in a large rock face. Crawling inside his already fading mind was happy to note that the hole was in fact a small cave that turned to the side once entered, hiding him from the outside. With no other options and fatigue now forcing his body to shut down young Harry Potter curled into a tight ball and, before sleep claimed him, uttered a small prayer to no being in particular that he would wake where he was. As a silent tear rolled down his face.

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Fixed some of my poor grammar. Sorry about that. I have never been good when it comes to proper grammar. Big thank you to my first three reviewers. also about Vernon. it made sense to give him the most damage as he was the one holding Harry. the reason he lived is because A) I want them all alive for a later chapter and B) because I've seen and heard of people surviving much worse but maybe I'll come back later and change it a little.

I'm going to start working on chapter two after work but i do go on a week long vacation tomorrow and none of my laptops screens work so sadly I'll have to wait to do any major writing. Also I want to start naming my chapters.


	2. Search

Chapter 2

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office going over the list of next year's set of new students as well as a last few teacher reports. His loyal friend Fawkes sat upon his perch, his chest rising and falling gently as he slept. Albus gazed around the room noting that the paintings of Hogwarts many former Head Masters where doing the same.

"It must be getting late." He chuckled quietly.

Standing, he began his nightly rituals of sorting his paper work, dusting off his portraits and shelves with magic (as not to disturb the paintings) and placing out some extra food for Fawkes should he awaken before his return. Walking to his private fire place he was about to reach for a bag of Floo powder when a loud ringing stopped him. He turned just in time to see one of the various interments that lined his shelf explode. Running over he picked up one of the broken pieces and paled.

"Dear Merlin please no." He whispered.

In his hands he held a shattered piece of a monitoring gyroscope. Gyroscope monitors are very powerful, very rare magical objects that were designed to allow someone, usually in the Ministry of Magic, to keep tabs on the multiple charms, wards, and/or enchantments placed on prisoners or other persons of interest easily. They worked by linking one of the many rings that made up the gyroscope to one of the individual spells. The outer most ring was linked to the person's life force while the inner most was used to balance and maintain the power used up by the rest. They were designed so that when one of the wards, charms, what have you failed the corresponding ring would cease rotating and give off a loud ringing.

But for one to explode such as this one could only mean one of two things. One, the charms were over loaded with too much magic or two, the person it was linked to met a very sudden, very violent magical end and this particular one was linked to none other than Harry Potter.

A cold fear gripped him. Standing he turned to his familiar, who was awakened by the noise, and held out his arm. Without a word the phoenix flew from its perch and landed on his outstretched arm before it stretched out its wings and they were both engulfed in a burst of flames.

They reappeared a few moments later inside the living room of one of his informants, Arabella Figg, since they were unable to flash directly to the Dursley's do to the wards that surrounded the house. Albus gave the room a once over and, not seeing the house's occupant, ran outside. As he burst through the front door he was greeted to the sight of a large crowd of muggle civilians and officers surrounding the Dursley home.

"Albus!" A voice cut through the noise of murmurs and sirens. He looked about until he spotted the hobbled form of Arabella Figg running towards him. When she finally reached him he could clearly see the look of panic and fear that marred her face. "He's gone Albus! He's gone and none of these muggles know how to find him." She screeched.

"What happened Arabella?" He asked as calmly as he could.

"I don't know. I was at home feeding my cats when one of the monitoring charms you gave me starting ringing. When I picked it up to see what was wrong something exploded from the house." She said, pointing back to the Dursley's. "Then the gyroscope started to glow and exploded right in my hand!" She lifted her palm for him to see and sure enough her left hand and forearm were riddled with various burns and cuts. "Knocked me right out it did and when I woke up and ran out here they were already driving the family off to the hospital. Albus they're saying that the family might not make it, that they were attacked and most of their bones were broken. I asked one of the officers if Harry was ok and they said that the fat one was the only child they found. He's GONE Albus!"

"How long ago did this happen?"

"I don't know. I thought I was out for only a few moments but some of the neighbors said that they've been standing there for over half an hour! Why didn't you come sooner?" She practically yelled.

Placing his hands on her shoulders he spoke as calmly as his already pounding heart would let him. "Calm yourself Arabella. My monitoring gyroscope blew as well but only a few moments ago, something or someone must have been blocking the signal until now." Arabella gasped, her knees ready to give out. "Now I need you to listen to me. I want you to go back to your house and contact the rest of the order, tell them everything that has happened here and let them know that I want them here immediately to begin a search. Get as many as you can except for Remus, tomorrow is a full moon so I doubt he will be home or in any condition to help us. Do you understand me?" At her weak nod he released her shoulders and watched as she stumbled back to her house.

Taking out his wand he cast a quick disillusionment charm over himself and Fawkes, who had since relocated to his right shoulder, and rushed through the now disbanding crowd of muggles and into the wrecked house. He stopped only a few feet in however as his senses where assaulted by an overbearing magical aura that seemed to saturate the house. It seemed to shift, constantly changing frequencies as if it was mutating. It prevented him from becoming familiar with its exact frequency and would thus leave him unable to identify it or its owner in the future. Fawkes sang out in discomfort on his shoulder.

Waving his wand a few times, Ablus's confusion and frustration over the situation only grew as he noted all of the wards placed around the house were still up and running. With no indication that they had been tampered with or shut down. "Then what happened here?"

He walked into the kitchen, shuddering at the amount of blood and wreckage. He then walked out to the backyard, following the strange aura. Only to lose it after he crossed into the next yard. The absolute instant he left the Dursley's property the magic simply disappeared. Dumbledore ground his teeth. 'Why is this happening? Even if they apparated there would still be a noticeable trail and the wards are set up to detect any apparition within a five mile radius. Did they find away to fool the wards or...' He turned back to face the house. "Are the wards themselves containing it?"

He was brought out of his thoughts when he spotted four familiar forms walking through the house. Cancelling his charm Dumbledore re-entered the house to great them. They were none other than Arthur and Molly Weasley, Rubeus Hagrid, and Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. Molly was the first to speak.

"We came as soon as we herd Albus. Is it true, is Harry really gone?" she asked in a trembling voice. Molly always had a very soft spot in her heart when it came to children. The mere thought of a child, especially the child of two of her closest friends, being kidnapped was almost too much for her. Behind her Hagrid wasn't fairing much better. His whole body was shacking with barely suppressed sobs. He had been very close to James and Lily when they attended Hogwarts, especially Lily after discovering the girls love for magical creatures and beings. Being a muggle born witch meant that she had little to no knowledge of the various creatures that made up the Wizarding world, leaving her with a large interest and passion for learning.

"Sadly yes, Harry is indeed missing." Moody started to muter under his breath as the rest fell silent. "Tell me, is no one else coming?"

Arthur was the first to recover. "For now yes. Ms. Figg is still trying for the others but she said that the Floo's not working right. She had to try six times to get a connection to the network and once she did we still had a hard time hearing her." He frowned as he remembered the frantic explanation that all received. "She said that someone might have interfered with the wards you set up."

Moody jumped in at this. " I ran a few test on the wards soon as I got here. Nothin' wrong with them from the outside but the anchor runes you got to supply the power are damaged, over cooked from the looks of them. From the feel of it I'd say it was done by whoever this strange magic belongs to. Wards are still feeding off it, goin' to overload the runes any second now, wards goin' with them." True enough they all felt a small pulse of magic as the wards began to fade.

"I'm afraid we don't have much time to waste. From what I've managed to gather it appears that whoever has taken Harry, if he was indeed taken, did not appirate once they were done, at least not immediately. I want all of you to fan out and search for even the barest hint of any magical activity and contact the rest if you do. Alastor please ask Ms. Figg to tell the same to anyone else she is able to contact." Moody nodded and quickly shuffled out of the house.

Before the rest could follow Molly grabbed Dumbledore's arm in a vice grip. "I told you." She hissed. "I told you it was a mistake leaving him with those muggles, but did you listen? NO! Instead you just ignored are warnings and left him here. You better pray that we find him Albus or I promise you that you'll be facing the consciences, especially once the Wizengmont finds out, and they will find out." With that she rushed out of the house to begin her search, Arthur following close behind.

"He'll be alright, won't he Dumbledore sir?" Hagrid asked with wet cheeks.

"I hope so Hagrid. I hope so."

As they left none of them noticed the silhouette of a hooded figure observing them from across the street. It watched for a few moments longer before silently fading into the surrounding shadows.

TBH

They scattered and searched for hours before they got their first lead from Alastor. It did nothing to raise their hopes. In a town about two miles from Privet Drive was another crime scene, this one much more gruesome. Blood and chucks of flesh were splattered and smeared into the surrounding pavement and walls of a large alleyway, as if the bodies were just ripped apart and rubbed into them. Paramedics stood nearby, loading nothing more than body bags into the backs of their vans. Faint remnants of the same strange aura that had been present at the house hung in the air. The only thing that had allowed them to continue their search was that they were able to identify the bodies as adults and only adults.

Their search became more frantic after that. Using every spell, charm and method they knew to find even the barest hint of Harry's location. Dumbledore even had Fawkes flying laps around the town. Just as they were about to give up hope Fawkes sang out to them, leading them to a nearby factory district. A small squad of patrol cars sat lined up, doors wide open, lights on and abandoned. Finding no clues in the buildings they turned their search to the nearby forest.

Albus walked passed a small stream. They had been searching for over an hour and still no results. No signs of the officers, no damaged trees and no magical auras. Summoning the last of his strength Dumbledore raised his wand to cast one last spell. A powerful charm he had been using since the search began. It would allow him to detect all life signatures in the area, separating the magical and none magical with different colors . But he was tired and weak from the search. So he had to resort to using Fawkes' magic through their link and the others aid as well. A strong wave shot from the tip of his wand as the surrounding forest filled with the ghostly lights of the life force of every living creature in a mile radius. From the smallest of bugs crawling under trees and inside a few of the small caves that dotted the area to the largest of wild life. Not a single sign of human life was found. With their hope of finding the young boy gone they each apparated home, sad, defeated and unsure of what the future would bring. Dumbledore gave a final sad look around the forest before he to left with the aid of Fawkes, dreading the coming morning and praying that he would be able quell the coming storm of the worlds reaction and dispel any possible rumors that might crush the hope that the Wizarding World was only just coming into. If only he didn't underestimate how fast stories were spread and twisted in the muggle world. And once again none of them noticed the hooded figure that sat lazily atop a large rock face that housed a small cave, idly kicking its feet as it watched them.

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Sorry about the short length and lacking quality of this chapter. I just really wanted to get this part out of the way so I could actually get into the story in the next chapter, which will be longer I promise. I couldn't think of any extended dialog and I didn't want to go adding a bunch of BS subplots and events just for the sake of lengthening the chapter. For those of you that are wondering about a few parts like Dumbledore not locating Harry with the spell or why it took so long for him to get there, it will be explained in the next chapter or two.


	3. Strange things, troubled times

**READ ME DAMN IT!**

No real excuse why this took so damn long. Been looking for a collage to go to with my parents dogging me the whole time. oh well.

so some info about the next few chapters. for starters I'm thinking of releasing them in shorter bursts. meaning shorter chapters but more frequent releases. maybe. also i wanted to give you guys a heads up on this. I'm most likely going to go another 6-8 chapters before i get to Hogwarts. meaning that a lot of Harry's training and important information will be revealed through flash backs and dialog.

next chapter will cover how people are reacting to the news and what the Dursleys said.

also quick shout out to my most recent follower 'jupitersthunder'. why the shout out? because the dude faved and followed RIGHT AFTER I FINISHED WRITING THIS CHAPTER and began proof reading. great timing man. hope you enjoy and the same to the rest of you.

finally **LEAVE A FUCKING REVIEW!** i love you guys, i really do, but you are killing me with this. it doesn't have to be all "good job and well done". maybe just a "hey i like this" or a "meh ya lost me" or even a "think fast douche fag power-thirst now comes in women."

well its midnight, what the fuck is it with me and posting my shit and midnight, so im going to go pass out. stay in school kids.

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Chapter 3

It was the rhythmic sound of dripping water that woke young Harry from his sleep. Stretching out his limbs to further rouse himself from his peaceful slumber. Peaceful. There was a sensation he didn't get to enjoy often. Sitting up and opening his eyes one thought echoed in his mind. 'Where am I?' Taking a look around the boy's half lidded eyes widened a fraction. He found that he was laying at the edge of a small pool of water that shined with a dim light. An illuminating orange light reflected off its surface and that of the damp rocks, filling the small dwelling he found himself in with an almost majestic glow. 'A cave?' He wondered. Then his eyes shot open. "THE CAVE!" His cheerful voice echoed off the rocks.

Shuffling to his hands and knees he scrambled across the puddle, around the corner and out the entrance. The sky was a soft, comforting dawn blend of reds purples pinks and oranges, with the few present clouds absorbing there colors. The warming rays of the coming sun peaked through the canopy that the dense cluster of trees made high above.

He gazed around himself with an almost disbelieving expression. As if everything he was seeing would disappear in a second, but it didn't.

He let out a small, almost hysterical chuckle. 'I'm still here. I'm still here.' "I'M STILL HERE! HAHAHA!" jumping to his feet he ran, spun, and bounced around the small clearing that housed his cave, laughing and singing wordless tunes in an almost delirious fashion. The untapped joy, the rising hope, the sheer disbelieving relief that surged through him in that one moment of realization sent him careening into drunken state of ecstasy. Tears poured down his cheeks, his voice became hoarse from his tuneless songs, his still tired limbs became sore from his carless dancing. But he didn't care. He stayed in this state for a long while before he was finally able to calm himself. Flopping down haphazardly on the mudded ground and spread-eagle he let out a few last giggles before he was finally able to focus his mind.

'What do I do now'. He had run away several times before and each time he did and actually managed to avoid the police he would somehow end up back at the Dursley's. Someone or something had always come for him as he slept, bringing him back to his torment. 'But not this time'. He rolled his head to the side in thought. It was the first time he felt that he had an actual shot at freedom. But he wouldn't delude himself. With his knowledge of outdoor survival none existent he knew that he had no real chance of actually living out here.

He rolled his head back so that it was staring up into the bright, beautiful sky that greeted him. 'There's no way I'll last in this forest.' He thought. 'My best chance of at least living for a while would be to travel to the nearest town and scavenge around for food, maybe steal some from a few corner stores and hide out in an abandoned building or sewer. After all.' He smirked. 'Those stories about me being a thief aren't entirely unfounded.'

He reached into his pants pocket and brought out one of the only possession he truly had, and the only one he brought with him in his escape, aside from his glasses. It was a small hunting knife. Its handle was made from red wood with a snake carved into it, its body wrapping around the handle as its mouth opened at the blades base. He remembered how Dudley tried stealing it from a shop a few weeks ago. Harry had been waiting outside while him and his parents browsed around. When Vernon called the shop owner aside to ask about a shotgun he'd been eyeing for the past several days Dudley snuck behind the counter and looted the knife, only to be caught by another costumer. Naturally that started a huge ruckus when the costumer called Dudley out and both Vernon and Petunia came to his defense, via shouting and screaming that the person should apologize for accusing there 'little Dudders' of committing a crime. None of them noticed that the knife, which by that time Dudley had placed on a random counter when no one was looking, was slowly levitating through the air and out of a conveniently open window into the waiting hands of a forgotten child. What could he say, by that point in time he had started developing a rather, unsettling, fascination for blades. When the shop owner asked for the blade and Dudley wasn't able to produce it the owner had asked them to leave and not return. Vernon spent the rest of the day ranting, Dudley got sweets to 'cheer him up', Petunia took her frustration out on Harry, naturally, and Harry himself got a knife that he was able to hide under a loose floor board. So all in all it was a good day.

The thought of those people brought a frown to his face. 'No doubt they'll send cops out looking for me.' His lips pulled back as a vicious snarl rushed past them. 'I'll never be safe as long as there are people dogging me'. A light pain throbbed through his scar.

Clutching the knife a thought returned to him. One that he had first thought one Halloween night when he was four years old. 'It would be better to just end it all now.' The words brought a painful flash of memories from that night, ones that he wanted to stay buried. He turn the knife in his hand and gazed at his reflection. Emerald green eyes stared back, shrunken and pained from years of unspeakable abuse. His grip tightened, turning his knuckles white.

He rolled to his feet and stood defiantly. "Fuck it!" he shouted to the sky. "I'll be damned if I die lying here. I've waited too long for this, suffered to long for this, and I refuse to give those bastards the satisfaction of finding my corpse." He dropped his head, his long crimson hair falling over his face. His voice lowered into a hard whisper. "I never expected on having a long or comfortable life anyway. But I'll do it, I'll keep on living as well as I can and show them that I can make it on my own, that I won't cower in a corner like a beaten dog. NOT EVER AGAIN! No matter the cost I'll keep on going until Hell itself drags me down!" With those final words he set off. He didn't have a set destination in mind, only getting as far away from Little Whining as possible was important right now. There were a number of things that could happen to him, he could get sick, he could starve, he could be maimed by some wild animal but it didn't matter to him. So he walked on, uncaring for what the future held in store for him.

**TBH**

The days that followed Harry Potter's disappearance had been nothing short of a living nightmare for Albus Dumbledore. For the first few days he had tried his best to keep the knowledge of the boys disappearance a secret, from pleading with Molly and the others to be patient in letting him handle the situation, to planning to break several ministry appointed laws and _Obliviate _all of the muggle witnesses. But sadly holding back the information was like holding back the tides. No matter how strong your grip was it would eventually leak and spill over. And leeks in the muggle world happened far too easily for Albus's liking.

Three days after the attack on Number Four a news report had been televised across muggle England about the known events that had taken place at Pivot Drive.

_"Breaking news today in the town of Little Whinging where apparently a local family was attacked inside of their own home by an unknown assailant using some form of explosive. Local residents were awakened last night to the sounds of what they describe as 'The live shooting of a horror film'."_

_"A local man stated that he was up getting a midnight snack when he heard shouting coming from across the street. _

_'At first I thought nothing of it. Everyone in town knows that the Dursley's are raising a delinquent nephew after his parents had died. Most of us are used to hearing them yell at the boy, have to if they're ever going to straighten him out.' _

_"But things soon changed after a new sound joined the screams."_

_'It was like something out of a bloody nightmare. It sounded like the screams of the dammed being played through an active jet engine.' _

_"Another witness described it as 'the gates of hell opening'. After that reports claim that an explosion shook the neighborhood and then silence."_

_"When police arrived on scene they immediately began a search of the house, where they found the bodies of the houses occupants."_

_"One officer had this to say."_

_'It was gruesome. We found them just strewn around the place. The father had actually been thrown through one of the walls.'_

_"After that the family was immediately rushed to a local hospital. All except for one, the young child that was mentioned earlier. During their investigation police were unable to find any sign of the boy, one Harry James Potter, and it is now believed by police that this horrifying case of assault is also a kidnapping."_

After that the information spread like wild fire. The Wizard and Witch reporters that kept tabs on muggle news programs wasted no time in getting the word out to every available paper. Harry Potter, the savior of the magical world, was missing. Not even an hour later Dumbledore had been called in to The Ministry of Magic where he was bombarded with questions from EVERY seated member including a very distraught Minister Millicent Bagnold who had raved at him for hours.

She was a slim, tall women with dull brown hair that she always kept back in a tight bun. Her most notable skills as a politician however were her strict but fair methods, her no nonsense attitudes when it came to dealing with foreign powers, and her lungs. When Bagnold spoke, everyone herd her. Some believed that she had cast a permanent sonorus charm on herself.

"YOU TOLD ME THAT HE WOULD BE KEPT SAFE ALBUS! Now I have the ENTIRE WIZARDING WORLD flooding my office with Howlers berating ME for YOUR incompetence as well as letters from the Ministers of SEVERAL other countries Demanding that I allow them to aid in the search. The entire wizarding world is practically bashing at my door asking how I could leave The Boy Who Lived with MUGGLES! Muggles Albus?! How could you leave him with Muggles?"

Dumbledore raised a passive hand. "It was necessary minister. It is within my Knowledge that when Lily Potter sacrificed herself to save the boy the magic she used created a powerful protective barrier around him. But with his mother dead and the spell unbound to any anchor, save the boy, I needed away to keep the spell charged. So I placed him with the only living relatives he still had and used that protection to create an array of Blood Wards around the house. The Blood Wards that surrounded the Dursley's residence provided an unparallel level of protection for young Harry."

"Then tell me, why in the name of Merlin's bloody balls is he MISSING?! I thought you said you placed wards of your own around the property, what happened to them?"

Albus' shoulders slumped, that was a question that had been plaguing him since this whole mess began. "I'm not sure." He admitted. "Alastor and myself have run every test we could think of over the wards and so far we have found nothing that would explain what happened. The wards we never tampered with from the outside. All we know is that the strange magic that we found inside the house was overfeeding the anchor stones but we don't know where it came from."

Bagnold fell back into her chair and rested her face into her palms. "What are we going to do Albus? We don't know who the culprits are, no demands or ransoms have been made and no one has stepped forward to take credit. The only reason we even know the boy is alive is because of the Gringotts Goblins."

It was true and somewhat of a saving grace. The Goblins of Gringotts had a method for keeping track on all of vault owners for their banks. Whenever someone wished to purchase a vault at Gringotts the goblins would first perform a short but necessary ritual that bound the person and their blood to their respective vault. In the case of magical families such as the Potters the head of the respective house would be placed as the vaults owner, their name appearing at the top of a list that would contain the name of every blood and magical member of their house. The names would appear as glowing letters on a stone wall that was kept deep beneath the bank. When one of the family members passed on or lost their right to inherit the vault that person's name would be petrified in stone.

After word of Harry's disappearance got out the Ministry requested access to the list of inheritors for the Potter family vault to cheek the statues of Harry's name. Albus and the Minister herself went when the Goblins allowed them access and sure enough Harry's name was still glowing, placed as the soul inheritor to the Potter family's fortunes after his parents death.

Albus nodded solemnly. Once they discovered the boy was still alive they had the news printed in every magical paper in the country and hoped the information would help to calm at least some of the Magical Worlds rising panic. But the fact that they had had no solid suspects was a continuing point of irritation for him. Though they were not ruled out Dumbledore did not believe this to be the work of Death Eaters. For one the Dursley's were still living. Had this been a Death Eater attack they would have been left decorating their own home with what was left of their bodies. Secondly they had taken Harry instead of killing or torturing him as a message to the rest of the world, like they had done to the Longbottoms.

"Tell me Albus and be honest, do you believe we'll find him?" Bagnold whispered through her hands, her voice tired and strained.

Dumbledore gazed at the woman, that she even needed to ask showed how hopeless it all was. No leads, no clues, no idea as to what happened. "Perhaps..." he said at last. "..but it is too much to hope for. The most we can do right now is douse the flames before the last of the peoples hope burns out."

But those plans were dashed once the Dursley's woke up. Two weeks after Harry's disappearance his relatives had awakened in their hospital beds and were immediately questioned by Little Whinging's Police Chief, a man named Harrison Write who just so happened to be one of the Dursley's neighbors. The report that they had given Harrison had made matter much more baffling and much, much worse.

**TBH**

Harry poked his head out from behind a dumpster. The sound of chirping crickets and the occasional car could be heard echoing in the distance. His eyes followed the movements of a middle age man with short brown hair as he locked the door to a local corner store, closing it up for the night. The store owner turned away from the door and walked down the street, returning home after a long day of work. Once he was out of sight and after making sure no one else was around Harry dashed out from behind his hiding spot and across the street. When he reached the door he quickly placed his palm flat against the keyhole for the lock.

He inhaled once and held his breath for a moment before slowly exhaling. Closing his eyes Harry built up a small pressure in his hand and, when he felt that it was enough, allowed it to leak out gently and flow into the lock. After a moment he rotated his hand to the right until he heard a familiar click. With a self satisfied grin he slid his hand down from the lock and grabbed hold of the door knob before turning it. His grin widened when the door opened without protest.

It had taken him twelve tries on several different locks, most of which exploded, to get that right. Quickly rushing inside, closing the door behind him, Harry set out to do what he came for. Stealing food and supplies. He ran through the small store, quickly grabbing bags of cookies and chips, handfuls of various fruits, random jarred goods and bottles of water and soft drinks before stuffing them haphazardly into a large burlap sack that was tied to his back. He had found the sack left out behind a grocery store a couple of days ago. At the time it had been filled with fresh apples, most likely from a delivery the store had received only for some idiot employee to forget about them. Lucky him. The bulk of the apples were eaten within the first day. After the apples were finished he used the bags sealing rope to form a shoulder strap and carried it with him.

Making his way to the very back of the store Harry walked up to a large wooden door. He opened it and found himself inside a rather small but space efficient office and with a quick look around found what he was searching for. Resting in one of the rooms corners was a bulky cast iron safe. The safe was around two and a half feet tall and three feet wide on either side. A small, giddy laugh passed his lips as he skipped over to it.

He had done this several times before. Mostly during his long journey to the town. He placed his hands on the safe door.

The first time he had done this it was a complete accident. Vernon, in one of his usual fits of rage, had locked Harry inside his cupboard under the stairs and replaced the regular hinges with large reinforced ones. He had also removed the doorknob and replaced it with a heavy duty latch lock like the ones used on the prison cells in Dudley's Cowboys and Indian books which Harry had 'borrowed' from him. Not that Dudley ever actually read them.

For the first two days Harry didn't really mind it. They left him alone while he was locked up and, as a result, didn't feel the need to beat him for something he didn't do. The third day was when he realized his problem. No one was feeding him. It wasn't anything new. The Dursley's would usually make him go days without eating anything, sometimes a full week. The only thing that kept him from becoming dehydrated was that he would drink water from the houses hose when he was watering Petunia's 'Paradise Garden'.

He didn't panic though. Surely the Dursley's wouldn't actually let his starve to death. But as the days past and the sound of stomping feet played repeatedly above his head the boy began to panic. He lost count of the days after eight and as his already bony gut began to shrink in, fear seized him. He had attacked his cupboards door in a blind rage on a day when his family was gone. His knuckles and palms and heels slamming fiercely against the cold wood. He had screamed and yelled until his voice went hoarse and when his fist and feet went red he used his shoulders and head.

After some time when his strength left him he found himself resting on the floor. Face against the ground and bloody palms still on the door. He wasn't entirely sure what happened next. He remembered crying, and talking. Praying maybe, though he had no idea who to. All he knew was that he wished the door wasn't there.

A stabbing pain throbbed in his head around the same spot that held his scar but that was probably do to his smashing it into the door. Then his hands hit the floor. The action surprised him. They had fallen forward and when he raised his head to look at them he noticed that the door was gone. His hands laying on the other side of the doorway. The door was gone the latch was gone and the hinges were gone.

He never did question it though. Merely taking it for granted like all children did something strange and fortunate. What he did was simply crawl to the kitchen, open the fridge, and stuff his face on cold leftovers and undercooked food. Petunia never did know how to cook.

When the Dursley's returned some hours later they had, of course, beaten him for ruining their property with his 'freakish ways'. Not that he was coherent enough to feel any of it. His guess was that they felt another attempt wasn't worth the effort because they never tried to lock him away like they again. They simply bought another cupboard door with regular hinges and threw him in until they needed him for chores.

The next time was a bit more intentional. The family had gone out clothes shopping (for Dudley) and left Harry to wait outside. He spent some minutes pacing the length of the building when he noticed an employee discarding a large bundle of clothes into a dumpster. Growing sick of wearing oversized hand-me-downs he saw this as a golden opportunity to owning some clothes of his own. He walked up to the dumpster climbed inside and began sorting through the piles of shirts pants and underwear that laid within. It was then that the employee came back outside, dumped out more clothes and closed the lid all without seeing Harry. Not that you could blame the man, the boy was neck deep into tattered jeans. Normally this wouldn't be much of a problem. Stand up flip the lid and hop out. The issue was, however, that the dumpster was a new model. Higher quality metal that isn't prone to rusting, stronger wheels with smother joints for easy movement, and a thick metal bar with locking plates meant to keep out animals.

Harry didn't panic though. For one he was virtually bathing in soft, mostly soft, fabrics and other then the smell of someone's unfinished lunch it was all rather cozy. Secondly it was around this time that Harry began to look deeper into what it was that made him a 'freak'. He placed his hands on the lid and focused. Searching inside himself for... whatever it was that he knew was there all the while wishing that the dumpster lid would go away. When his hands felt lighter and he saw red under his eyelids he knew it worked. He climbed out bringing a pair of sweat pants with him, bumped into the Dursley's when they finished their shopping, had the pants taken from him immediately and was beaten when they arrived home. So... typical day.

Breathing evenly Harry concentrated. It was easier now, far easier then it was when he was four. A year of practice and the motivation to drive him did wonders. Whereas before it took a good twenty minutes now all he needed to do was strain his mind and think. The safe door was gone in ten seconds.

He didn't waste time celebrating this small victory. He reached into the safe, pulled out stacks of money and stuffed them into his pants pockets and what wouldn't fit there was crammed into his sack.

When he finished stuffing his bag as well as his pockets Harry made his way out of the store, stopping only to make sure no one else was around as well as relocking the door (wouldn't want someone else stealing from it). Sprinting back across the street and into the ally Harry made his way through the rather large town he had found himself in some days prior. After several minutes of running between buildings, hiding from others and climbing fences the boy had final arrived at his destination. Peaking around the corner of a small laundry mat one last time Harry leapt from his shadowy cover and dashed up a wide dirt road that led out of town.

The road snaked its way through a small woods and down a gentle slope that led far from the town. A good few minutes actually. Natural vegetation had long since reclaimed it to nature. Wild shrubs and grass covered it, only alowing the path to be noticeable by the great spots of dirt and missing trees.

As he rounded the last bend in the road Harry saw the large factory that had acted as his sanctuary for the last four days.

It was a tall, run down mess of a building with the fading moonlight serving to only make the sight more ominous. Its dark silhouette was barely visible before the seemingly black stretch of trees that surrounded it. Only the pale rays of moonlight reflecting off of the rusted metal and shattered glass allowed its features to be made out from a distance.

The main body of the factory was a long three story building with a large metal garage door and multiple shattered and empty window panes. The second part of the factory was a twisted complex structure of metal pipes, walkways and smoke stacks. The third and final part was a relatively small two story office building that was attached to the left side of the warehouse like garage.

The entire compound was bordered by a tall chain link fence.

Harry wasted no time in running up to the fence near its large gates and grabbing the bottom row of rusted metal. With a small amount of effort he was able to bend the bottom of the fence out and lift it a good foot and a half from the ground.

Switching his grip to one hand Harry used his other to grab hold of his makeshift bag and pull it from his shoulders before sliding it through the gap. Once it was safely on the other side the boy quickly scrambled under the fence before he tugged it back into place.

He slipped his bag back onto his shoulder and dashed to the large warehouse section of the factory. Harry paced down its cracking brick wall until he came upon a small plank of wood resting against it. He laid the plank on the ground to reveal a narrow hole in the wall, most likely used for a vent that long since fallen away.

Crawling inside backwards on his stomach in order to re-cover the hole Harry released a relieved sigh. 'Home'.

It was strange and a bit sad that after only four days Harry was comfortable enough in this rusted broken shell of a factory to call it his home. But when one considered what his life was like before it really didn't seem all that surprising. Home was a place that made you feel safe, a place that you could hide yourself away from all of life troubles. This industrial wreckage was the only place that had ever fit that description for the boy.

Idly brushing the dirt from his clothing Harry walked calmly through the garage, weaving around fallen pipes and beams and up a flight of warped metal grate stairs to the second level.

The warehouse like structure housed what appeared to be an assembly line for motor vehicles. Hefty metal chains and hooks dangled from the ceiling while catwalks, conveyers and lifts filled its open space. Every here and there laid some random part of an old car. A windowless door hung from one of the many hooks, a tire rested against a stack of empty oil barrels, a windshield lied shattered in a far off corner while an unfinished engine made its home amongst a mass of steering wheels.

The stairways and catwalks were as broken down as the rest of the place with missing handrails and parts so rusted that they crumbled at the touch. Moonlight peeked through vacant windows and the various holes that littered the walls and ceiling, allowing the cool night air to flow through gently caressing his long crimson hair.

Stopping at a featureless metal door Harry winced in pain when he opened it, the corroded hinges rubbing together as they squeaked in protest. He endured the awful noise a final time as he closed the door behind him.

The entrance he had come through connected the factories warehouse to the small office buildings top floor. The office served as his own makeshift bedroom. The top floor was separated into four parts. The first was a spacious sitting room with a couch, an oval table in the center and six chairs on the opposite wall to the couch. It was this part that he found himself in when he first entered. The second part was a tight corner of the room that housed a small desk and several file cabinets. It was probably used as a secretaries corner. The third area was a unisex bathroom. Unfortunately for him the water pipes in the building were running dry. Next to the bathroom was a flight of stairs that led to the first floor of the building. The fourth and final area was behind a thick wooden door made of oak. It was a grand personal office that once belonged to the businesses owner. The room was mostly vacant except for a maple wood desk two torn up cushioned chairs and an empty book shelf that took up half the back wall. The right wall of the office held a decent sized closet while the left contained a boarded up window.

When he had first discovered this place after stumbling into town Harry immediately decided to make it his. He spent the following hours going over the grounds and finding anything that could suite his needs. He had taken the stuffing and fabric from the old chairs and used them along with some string he looted to make a rough pillow. Since the cushions were attached to the wooden framing and already torn he simply had to pull them out from the base and stitch them together as best as he could. He turned the couch into a bed and used the rest of the sitting room as a living room of sorts.

Harry took off his shoes, which he had stolen in a previous town, and placed them inside the office closet. Unfortunately he has yet to pilfer a set of socks but a snug pair of loafers did well enough to protect his feet from the splintered wooden floor of the office. 'Honestly though. I've stolen food, money and a knife but I have yet to find a single sock. Do people just not throw them out or even keep them in stock? I lifted two clothes stores and no socks, the bloody hell?' Coincidently the loafers were also stolen from the same town as his shoes.

The closet was filled with various articles of clothing and random fabrics tied together to repair tattered ones that Harry had gathered from scavenging and dumpster diving. Well to him it was filled. In actuality it had two scarves, one whole the other made by tying two torn jacket sleeves together. A large brown heavy leather duster that dragged slightly on the floor when worn and was riddled with tears and stains. The set of clothes he had run away in. Three large brown sweat shirts(with replaced sleeves), a pair of acid washed jeans (that surprisingly fit), and a hat...well half a hat. He made it work.

What he had on now was Dudley's gray hoodie (formerly white), a white undershirt (stolen obviously) and a pair of black pants. 'Actually now that I think about it aren't these women's pants!'

Leaving the office Harry walked to the staircase and made his way to the first floor. It was noticeably colder then it was upstairs but it was to his benefit. The first floor was just one large open room. Busted and tipped over file cabinets lined the wall that covered the stairway and it was here that Harry stored the small amount of food that he had.

Most of it was rather organized. The cabinets that were missing their drawers he had laid onto their sides and placed his jarred food on top of them along with some bread that was starting to mold.

"Great."

The rest of the cabinets that were still usable stored his drinks (water on top, juice on the bottom, soft drinks in the middle). Others contained some fruits and the remainder held his nonspecific mess of junk food. Mostly cookies, chips and some hard candies whose name he didn't care to remember.

Dropping his sack to the ground and opening the drawers Harry began 'filing' his provisions. He looked over them, taking in the sight.

"My, how far I've come." His voice was a whisper. A mumble above the silent whistle of the wind through the holes in the walls.

It was true. His stores of food were nothing grand by any means. In fact what he had was far less then what most people would find in the average pantry. The fruit would go bad fast because of the poor storage conditions, the bread was already starting to mold, and most of his lasting food was junk. But compared to what he had before, and what he expected to have when he left, only one honest thought came to his mind. "I've done well for myself."

Placing the last of his goods away he turned to the rest of the room. It was distinctly devoid of furniture. The remnants of once fine tables and chairs lied shattered and splintered in a great heap in a far corner. Much to his own doing then that of the people who once work here.

The floor was covered in a carpet whose color had long since faded. Except for a wide circular space in the center. There the carpeting was stripped away to reveal the stone floor that lied beneath. The stone itself was a featureless slab of concrete that apparently spanned the length of the factory. Ruined bricks circled a great black stain in the stone.

It was here that Harry made use of the broken wood and dried fabric to start nightly fires. He had pulled back the carpeting himself to expose the stone and continued doing so until he felt it was far enough to avoid catching fire. Next to the circle of brick was a small stack of the cleanest metal plates he could find. These were his cooking appliances. Grabbing a bottle of water a bag of sea salt chips and fpur random jars Harry placed his dinner just outside the fire circle and retrieved a bundle of wood. He dropped them in the circle of bricks and plopped down in front of it. Then he raised his right hand to his face and studied it.

It was a sad sight. The pale skin was marked with dented and scarred skin from where flesh was severed and bone broke through. It was made all the more noticeable by how tightly it clung to his bones. There was no meat under the skin, just bone and vein. He rolled up his sleeve, showing himself that the rest of the arm was no different. Disfigured flesh sunk over nonexistent muscle and into the crevices of his arms joints. And the rest of his body matched. His cheeks were sunken and thin, ribs pocked painfully through tight skin. Hip and tail bones shone out like a lizards spikes in a monster movie. His crimson hair was thin and fading. He was a starved corpse with a heartbeat and he had no idea why.

Yes he was starved regularly by the Dursley's but even then he never shrunk this thin. And since his escape he had made doubly sure to gorge himself on whatever food he could whenever he could. And if Dudley was any indication then doing that should have at least made him a bit plump. Junk food and sweats were supposed to do that to a person right? But no, he had only grown thinner. But the strangest part about it. He never felt tiered or weak. Sure he felt the need to sleep at night but that was normal. What wasn't normal was a starved skeleton boy being able to run continuously down streets, jump fences and lift metal beams that should have been far too heavy for a child and many adults.

On top of that was the fact that he never felt full. He was plagued by a constant, unending hunger. When he found the sack of apples some days back he ate more than half the damn bag and _still_ felt like he could down the rest. Once he came across a stream of fresh water and sunk his face into it, drinking for what felt like a good half hour only to feel a strong thirst when he pulled away. and he rarely needed to relieve himself. In the near two weeks that he had been own his own he must have pissed away a quarter gallon of water and shat out slightly more. That _definitely_ wasn't normal.

'But when have I ever been normal.' The strange happenings that followed him, the random destruction, the disappearing or levitating items. The various incidents that labeled him a freak. Or at least that's what the Dursley's called him.

His fist clenched shut. White bone blending seamlessly with white skin. "Those bastards."

It was them who had labeled him a freak. Them who had beaten him. Starved him. Tormented his every waking moment with pain and insults.

_Freak. _

_Creature. _

_Punching bag. _

_Mistake. _

_Cunt spawn. _

_No one will ever love you. _

_You should have died with my freak of a sister._

"Even now, miles away, their taunts echoed in my head!" A pain throbbed through his scar. "But they did bless me with one thing. Drive."

It was little over one year ago that Harry began to study just what it was that made him a freak. It started out slow. When something 'freakish' happened around him he made sure to remember as much detail about it as possible. What had happened, what did it happen to, what was going on around him when it happened and what was he doing. It took a few events but he finally began to notice a pattern. The incidents would always occur when he was in some kind of trouble. Vanishing a door when he was trapped. Jumping to a high branch in a tree when he was chased by one of his aunt Marge's dogs, usually Ripper. Setting fire to a trash can the first time he ran away and got lost in some back ally, cold and frightened. Hurling Dudley a good ten feet when he was beating him just by thinking of it.

He would always be angry or afraid when they happened and there would also be this strange, feeling, in his chest and sometimes his head. So when night came and he was once again locked in his cupboard he would spend his time trying to recreate what he felt. He didn't get any results for a time until his uncle Vernon, in another fit of rage, threw him out the front door one night. Not knowing what else to do he decided to once again get as far away from Number four as possible.

He stumbled around aimlessly, cold, hungry, and mad. At one point he grew so mad that he thought of throwing his uncle out of his own house and then. _SMASH_. The noise startled him and he looked around to see a garbage can bent around a telephone pole. Curious, Harry searched for another and when found, imagined it as his uncle. He stood near it for a good three minutes. Dreaming of all that horrible things his uncle had done to him and what he would love to do back. Beat him. Punch him. Throw him on his flabby ass in the middle of rush-hour traffic.

As his rage grew so too did a still foreign pressure in his skull.

He wanted to hurt his uncle. To punish the piece of filth that had hurt him.

The side of his head began to feel wet.

He wanted to make the man suffer, to destroy him. To _crush_ the fat, filthy mugg..

_SSCRUNCH_

Wrenching metal pained his ears. The can that had been his uncle lied crushed into a irregular ball of metal and filth. He had done it. He had performed an act of 'freakishness' intentionally. 'Anger.' He realized. Anger was the key. When he felt angry he also felt the pressure in his skull. When he was afraid or sad then it came from his chest. But anger, anger was so much easier to summon and to keep. And the Dursley's gave him plenty to be angry about.

He spent the rest of the night working on getting angry and making his 'freakishness' do something, well, freaky. It wasn't until sometime later when he wiped the sweat from his eye that he noticed that the wet feeling from before was actually a gentle trail of blood leaking from his scar.

That night had been the start of everything for him. Whenever he was locked away or managed to sneak out of the house he would practice his power, his gift. Using it to knock over trash cans and, when he got better, hurl stones at lamppost. Hey, he was going to be blamed for Dudley's doings anyway might as well add some truth to it. And Sometimes when he grew really angry he would be able to do one more trick.

He glared at his hand. The memories of his life's cruelty fueling his rage. His eyes shown with an intensity, white hot and molten. And his hand burst into flames.

He didn't flinch. The first time it happened he did. A stick Dudley was beating him with combusted when he grabbed it. They stood in shock before Dudley screamed and ran away and Harry dropped the stick only for the flame to stay in his palm. At first he was understandably freighted. He screamed and cried and rolled around on the ground for a bit before he noticed that the flames weren't hurting him. When he wished for it to be gone it went out.

Now he was able to conjure it almost at will. He could even transfer it to his other hand, and...

His arm shot out. The flame leaping from his figures to nestle into the bundle of dried wood.

...he could throw it.

As the flames grew higher Harry looked over to the stack of metal plates. He cocked his brow and one of them floated towards him. This particular plate was a large and irregular in shape but was made useful by its deep domelike curve. Several bricks slid from there circle and stacked themselves in fives next to the burning wood, the plate resting itself on top. The jars followed after, stopping a moment in front of him so he could remove their lids. They were filled with a different mixture of foods. One contained olives soaked in vinegar, another held pickled tomatoes. A third carried a mixture of beans while the forth held what he guessed was a broth of some kind. All was dumped into the 'pot'.

A metal rod made its way to his hands and he used it to stir his concoction. With a few good turns he laid the rod down away from the flames and beckoned a small plastic box from atop one of the cabinets. Moving away from the fire to meet it Harry grabbed it from the air and sat at the edge of the carpet. He poured its contents onto the ground. A great deal of money, gathered over two weeks from each of the stores he robbed. Taking out what he had stolen today from his pockets and bag it counted up to eight hundred and thirty pounds.

"I should use some of this tomorrow. Yes there are going to be cops around because of the robbery but if I stick to the other side of town and only bring a small amount then no one should pay attention to me. I'll need to keep my hood up though."

He slipped the bills through his fingers. Not really counting but...appreciating what he had. He had never held money before he left. The Dursley's didn't give him an allowance and never trusted him to watch over anything of theirs. Save their food.

'Food. That's a good idea.' A hand passed over his stomach. "I'll go to several restaurants. That should fix me up. Some good, real food." His head turned back to the now steaming 'pot' of...stew? 'Anything is better than Potter Surprise HAHAHAHA!'

It was settled then. Tomorrow morning he would put on his nicest clothes, flip up his hood and eat himself stupid across the town until he finally felt full.

When he finished his disturbingly tasty brew along with his chips and water he doused the flames of his fire and walked upstairs. A cold breeze whistled throughout the building so he curled up on his couch/bed under his leather duster and drifted to sleep. Dreaming of hot food and clean plates.

A cold wind whistled outside. Dancing over trees and skipping across tall grass. The flapping of a cloak joined the winds song as a tall dark figure sat idly atop the tallest smoke stack, watching and waiting.


	4. Distorted truths and shatterd hearts: 1

I decided to do the idea of shorter but more frequent chapters, at least for now. this one was going to be much longer but i decided to split it up. so this being the case you can disregard the whole 8 more chapters until Hogwarts thing i said in my last chapter.

i chose to make Nymphadora younger for this fic because i need her for Harry's first and second year.

* * *

Andromeda Tonks gently rocked her still weeping daughter while she sat on the living room couch. The sound of the girls broken sobs tore at her heart. "It's not true, it can't be true." Her own red eyes met her husbands, a handsome muggle born wizard by the name Edward 'Ted' Tonks, before turning back to the TV. The captions on the screen reading: Tragedy in Little Whining.

The day had started out so peacefully. After a long but pleasant day of work, being the head chef at a local muggle cafe, she had returned home to see her brilliant daughter napping on the floor curled up alongside her familiar, a fluff ball Persian cat. They made a cute image. The cat was rolled into a tight ball, its winter grey fur pressing against her daughters belly while the girls arms gently wrapped around it, her knees pulled up to her elbows. Andromeda couldn't help but smile at how adorable her daughter was. She was a thin, fair skinned thing that insisted on being covered in black or some dark color. A thin, large black long sleeve shirt covered her torso while a pair of ripped baggy jeans covered her legs. If only she didn't insist on making her hair purple.

Yes if there was one fault Andromeda could find in her daughter it was her Metamorphmagus abilities. Oh it wasn't the abilities themselves that she had issue with. Quite the opposite in fact. When she and her husband had first witnessed their little princess turning her hair fiery red and changing her nose into a pig snout it had been one of the proudest days of her life. No, her issue was the girls insistence on hiding her true appearance. The only time she ever letup on her powers was when she was at home with them but _even then_ she insisted on keeping her hair some odd color. Oh well.

"Nymphadora." She called. But the purple haired girl stayed sleeping. "Nymphadora." She tried louder. Incoherent mumbles were her reply. "I brought you some sweets." Her voice was an innocent bribing as she shook the paper bag of cookies she had made. Nothing.

Her lips set into a firm line as she crept up on the sleeping child. She placed the bag of goodies a few steps back as she knelt next to the girl. She leaned in close, lips brushing her ear. "Don't make me tickle you." She sung gently. More mumbles. "Have it your way."

In only a few moments the child went from dead to the world to thrashing and laughing screams. The unfortunate cat was launched from its perch, much to its displeasure.

"Hahaha m-mom, w-w-w-what are you hahaha doing!?"

"Why I'm waking you up of course." Her hands never stopped.

"Mahaha, I-I'm awake! Stop, please!"

Andromeda brought one hand up to tap her chin while the other continued its torture. "Hmm, no I don't think I will." And the hand fell back down.

"S-stop! Please! DAD HELP HAHAHA!" Her laughs were coming so hard she was beginning to cry.

"Your father isn't home dear. He won't before another hour."

"Rotten, Rotten h-help." She called out to her cat. Andromeda still couldn't get over that name. What kind of name was what for a cat. Her daughter had told her it was for the singer from some band she like but she wasn't so sure. 'Sex Pistols, honestly, what kind of band name is that?' Sadly the oddly named cat ignored his owners call, having found a new spot to rest on one of the dining room chairs.

Andromeda continued mercilessly tickling her daughter until the girl threatened to wet herself. Reluctantly stopping, she stood and went to the kitchen to place the cookies out on a plate while her daughter ran to the restroom. She emerged a minute later. Her lips set into a deep pout, her shifting abilities making them larger for added effect.

"That was mean mom."

"I'm sorry love." She said, not sounding the least bit apologetic.

She crossed her arms angrily. "Hmf, old bag."

Andromeda smiled. "Oh, are we at insults already? Well I would rather be an 'old bag' then a girl who still soils herself at ten." She laughed back.

Nymphadora glared back. "Only because you tickled me!"

"Excuses, excuses." Nymphadora flipped her off. "Mind yourself young lady or you won't get any of these." She scolded and held up one of the cookies.

Nymphadora lowered her hand. Studying the treat with a curious eye. "What kind are they?" she asked. Trying and failing to not sound hopeful.

Andromeda smiled. "Blueberry oatmeal." When her daughter let out an unintentional whimper she brought it to her mouth and bit slowly. A loud crunch rang out. "Extra crunchy." Her eyes danced with amusement as the young girl whined.

"I'm sorry momma." Her eyes never left the treat.

Andromeda hummed her doubt as she finished her snack and reached for a second. "Sure you are." _Crunch._

"Mom." The girl whined, stepping closer but her mother held up a hand, stopping her.

"Sorry sweetie." She said around a mouthful. "But only good little girls get to have sweets." She teased. Then her daughter did something she hated. The girls short, ruffled hair grew in length so it fell past her eyes and framed her round face. A bundle on each side clumped together while they changed color till they resembled shaggy dog ears. Her naturally sky blue eyes grew large and moist. Her hands came up together to rest under her chin. A canine like whimper echoed in her throat.

"Stop it." Her mother warned.

She tilted her head to the side. The whimper growing louder.

"I said stop, right now!"

Andromeda nibbled her lower lip as Nymphadora walked up to her and rubbed her face against her side. "Oh darn you FINE!" She growled with no real ire in her voice, storming off the change out of her chef uniform. "I had my fill at work anyway."

Nymphadora smiled as she skipped over to the fridge for a glass of milk. "Thanks mommy."

Five minutes later found the mother and daughter curled up on the couch watching episodes of The Jetsons. Nymphadora graciously 'permitting' her mother to partake in her goodies. The two stayed like this for some time, agreeing to switch between channels when one of their shows ended. They slipped into a comforting silence, letting the television fill the room with its own noise until wooden sounds echoed from the front door.

"I'm home!"

Andromeda watched as her daughter leapt from her side and ran to the front of the house. The sound of slapping fabric followed soon after. "Daddy!"

"There's my little girl. How was your day?" The deep calm voice of her husband came from the hall. Footsteps sounded off the wooden floor was he entered the large living room, his princess's arms wrapped around his neck as he carried her.

"Fine. I taught Rotten a new trick." She stated proudly. White teeth shinning behind her enormous smile.

"Did you now?" He raised his brow when she came into sight. A light smile pulling at his toned face beneath a thin set of dark brown whiskers that connected to an equally thin beard. Andromeda shrugged, it was news to her as well.

Nymphadora nodded, her smile growing. "Yeah huh. Watch." She twisted out of her father's arms and ran up to one of the rooms plush chairs. Rotten had felt the need to relocate from the kitchen some time ago after realizing he wouldn't be getting any attention while under a table. He regretted that decision now as his master not so gently lifted him from his warm cushion and placed him on the cold floor. "Ready Rotten." The girl asked through a face splitting smile. The cat replied by glaring hot death before cleaning itself. Much to her parents amusement. His owner frowned. "Come on Rotten, you promised you'd help." He lifted his leg and started on his delicates. Her parents laughter made her face turn pink.

"I think he's mad at you dear." Her father said from the couch, having taken her spot with his wife nestled into his side.

Nymphadora did her best to ignore them. She went down on to her belly so she was almost eye level with her cat. "Please Rotten? I'll have dad buy you some salmon."

"I never agreed to that." He laughed. When he saw her hair grow longer and two clumps appear at the sides he relented. "Oh fine." He grumbled. "Too bad that doesn't work on the fuzz ball." His wife swatted his arm playfully.

Rotten stopped his cleaning and looked up at his owner, head tilted and leg still raised. Seeing that she was serious about getting his favorite food he reluctantly lowered his limb and sat up on his hind legs. The purple haired girl smiled brilliantly as she stood, legs bent and hands behind her back. "Ok ready?" He nodded, front legs tense and waiting. He found it somewhat amusing that she would get so much joy and go as far as bribing him for something so simple. Nymphadora waited a moment, quickly checking that her parents were indeed watching before her hands shot forward and pointed het her familiar. Index out and thumb up to resemble a gun. "Freeze!" Rotten jumped up to stand on his back legs while raising his fronts into the air. His owner's smile grew. "BANG!" His front paws closed over his chest before he fell onto his back, hind legs sticking straight up. The parents laughed and clapped and his owner turned to bow theatrically. Deciding on his own that they were finished he jumped back unto 'his' chair and resumed his long tongue bath.

The family spent the rest of the day in the living room talking about their day, Nymphadora resting between them. The TV was switched to the news at teds insistence, a practice they had excepted. He always preferred relaxing from a hard day's work at the Law firm by seeing what else was happening in the world. It was going fine for a while until the current report, something about an elementary schools charity drive for kittens, was cut out. Replaced by a poorly animated police car, a red banner trailing behind reading 'BREAKING NEWS'.

_"Breaking news today in the town of Little Whinging where apparently a local family was attacked inside of their own home by an unknown assailant using some form of explosive. Local residents were awakened last night to the sounds of what they describe as 'The live shooting of a horror film'."_

_"A local man stated that he was up getting a midnight snack when he heard shouting coming from across the street. _

_'At first I thought nothing of it. Everyone in town knows that the Dursley's are raising a delinquent nephew after his parents had died. Most of us are used to hearing them yell at the boy, have to if they're ever going to straighten him out.' _

Andromeda made an offended noise. "You don't 'straighten' a troubled child by screaming at him! If anything its probably their fault for his behavior."

Edward agreed with his wife. He never believed in 'straightening out' a child. Whenever their own little girl would get out of hand, which was once in a blue moon, they found that a stern talking to and a time out worked just fine. His hand slid from his wife's shoulder to absentmindedly rub his daughters head.

_"But things soon changed after a new sound joined the screams."_

_'It was like something out of a bloody nightmare. It sounded like the screams of the dammed being played through an active jet engine.' _

_"Another witness described it as 'the gates of hell opening'. After that reports claim that an explosion shook the neighborhood and then silence."_

The two parents felt their daughters body shiver.

_"When police arrived on scene they immediately began a search of the house, where they found the bodies of the houses occupants."_

_"One officer had this to say."_

_'It was gruesome. We found them just strewn around the place. The father had actually been thrown through one of the walls.'_

Andromeda pulled her onto her lap and the girl buried her face into her chest. "Perhaps we should change the channel dear." Her husband nodded and got up for the remote.

_"After that the family was immediately rushed to a local hospital. All except for one, the young child that was mentioned earlier. During their investigation police were unable to find any sign of the boy, one Harry James Potter, and it is now believed by police that this horrifying case of assault is also a kidnapping."_

Ted's finger stopped over the channel button as he turned to his wife. Andromeda's face was an opened mouth mix of shock and horror and his daughter wasn't any better. An old memory played out in his mind, one of his little girl and a young red haired baby on a toy broom being chased by a shaggy black dog, all laughs and giggles while he and his wife sat nearby with a young couple. A woman with fiery red hair that cascaded down in waves and a tall handsome man with rough black hair and a pair of glasses. He looked back at the screen. Hoping for some sign, some hint that this wasn't as bad as it sounded. Oh how cruel fate was to the hopeful.

_"No pictures of the boy were found inside the house but local authorities were able to provide one of their own, a photo taken after they had arrested the boy for running away, something that has apparently happened more than once."_

An image came up, filling the entire screen. A thin crimson haired boy stood in its center, backed by two officers. Bright green eyes glaring burning death at the camera. And a lighting shaped scar peeked through thin strands.

_"If you have any information on the whereabouts of this child you are encouraged to contact your local authorities."_

Then his daughter began to cry.

* * *

I had a spelling mistake that said "oh how cruel FAT was to the hopeful" rotflol XD fear the dreaded cake ye mortals!

oh and don't forget to review.


	5. Distorted truths and shatterd hearts: 2

Behold, my floating masterpiece, The Egg Carrier! But it pales in comparison to the the power of Chaos!

but seriously, sorry my updates are taking awhile, the hunt for school and a better job are vary stressful. that and I've been staying up all night playing SWTOR. DARK SIDE FOR LIFE! I would like to thank those of you that do review my chapters for keeping me motivated. also hey, its my first upload that wasn't at midnight. YAY!

I think my next update will be for The Second Coming. I admit I haven't been putting that much effort into writing it so sorry if you like that one.

well here you go. i hope you like it. And, as always, **REVIEW MA FUKIN STORY! **or I'll kill Tonk's cat. I mean it. I will fucking murder that cat. I'll have someone go Office space on the thing.

* * *

It was late at night when Molly Weasley walked down the final flight of stairs to her living room. Her husband Arthur Weasley sat on the large green couch that rested in the center of the clustered room. When she stepped on one of the squeaky wooden steps he turned to her. Tired eyes with deep bags followed her, matching her own broken look. It had been a long week for the both of them. When news of Harry Potters disappearance went public their lives had quickly grown more hectic. Arthurs job at the Ministry of Magic's Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office had the extra burden that all other departments were now facing, using all of their available resources to aid in the search for the missing boy. Which included their funding, an unfortunate cost that made their work back up by several days.

Because of this he hardly ever had the time to join Molly and the rest of the members of the, now long disbanded, Order of The Phoenix in their search for Harry. Though Dumbledore and many others were beginning to give up hope they still persisted. Using or making new contacts both within and outside of magical England. As well as some rather unsavory circles. Remus felt that since the Werewolf populations tended to keep their noses in dark places that some of them might stumble across some useful information. No such luck.

She plopped down next to her husband who immediately wrapped his arms around her and brought her onto his side, laying across the cushions. "How is she doing?" He asked. His voice tired and strained.

By far their most emotionally damaging problem was their children. A palpable air of dejection invaded their household, following their beloved children after they had heard the news. The two eldest sons Bill and Charlie walked with a noticeable lack of energy. Though they still stuck to their hobbies, Bill with his fascination for runes and curses and Charlie's love of all things flying, they seemed to lack a certain finesse that they once had. Percy had lost his love of organization and hardly ever harped on his younger siblings for not following the rules. The twins, Fred and George rarely pranked the rest of the family. Choosing instead to invent and build elaborate new jokes and inventions, but never actually use them. Ron, the youngest son, was less affected then his brothers, having been only been a year old at the time of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named 's defeat and thus had no true grasp on the weight of the situation.

The biggest problem though was their daughter, Ginevra, and it was a problem that Molly blamed herself for entirely. Since she was old enough to comprehend words and their meanings Molly had raised her little girl on stories about Harry Potter, from what little fact she knew about him to a bit of fiction. And what had happened as a result? The girl had poster upon poster hanging from her wall, images of what the world believe the boy looked like. Her bookshelves were lined with fanciful stories about his imagined future. And now she lied in her room, eyes red and throat sore from crying.

"I never should have bought those damned books. Or the posters. Or any of it." She mumbled. Her voice laced with self-loathing. Arthur rubbed a gentle hand through her hair and kissed her forehead lovingly. He didn't hold it against her, any of it. It was an innocent intention, wanting their darling daughter to know of the boy whose life meant so much to the world, and whose parents meant so much to them.

"It's not your fault Molly, none of it is. You didn't know this would happen, none of us did. Not even Dumbledore." She snorted at the name and he couldn't blame her. They loved Dumbledore, truly they did. From his position in wizarding society to his role in their lives when they themselves attended Hogwarts back when he was only a teacher, the man had always held a place in their hearts and lives. But with the disappearance of Harry from a place he swore was the safest place for him to stay, a place they both warned him against placing the child, it was hard to bring up his name and not feel a bit of rage. Petunia held no love in her heart for her sister. Not since Lily first discovered that she was a witch, and with her marriage to her husband, a man that hated everything and anything he deemed unnatural, it had only grown worse. Dumbledore had argued with them when they offered to adopt the child, alongside McGonagall, who had spied on the Dursley's when he proposed the idea, and several other families that held the Potters close to their hearts, that there was no way petunia Dursley would harm or neglect a child, especially one of her own blood, because of a childhood grudge.

"I should go up there tomorrow and burn all those posters, and the books." She sighed.

He held her tighter. "I'm just glad James and I didn't go through with that marriage contract." It sounded horrible to say but it was none the less true. "I don't think I want to know what she would act like if we did."

Molly hummed, nodding her head. "As am I. If I told you once I've told you a thousand times, never discuses politics, money or family matters over a bottle of fire whiskey." She laughed gently, eager for a change in subject. But they both knew that if they didn't talk about it now it would simply settle down in the back of their minds and stew. Growing from a sense of regret and worry into a churning torrent of depression.

"She's still young Molly, barely four now; There's more than enough time for her to grow out of it."

"You should have heard her cry. Only four and it already has such a strong hold on her heart." She rolled into his hold, pressing her face into his chest. "What have I done?"

He kissed her again; this time on the lips. "Nothing that wouldn't have happened on its own. It's a young girls crush. A faze all children go through. Remember when you told me about yours, what was his name again, the quidditch player?"

She smiled fondly, a light chuckle moving her chest. "Angus Sparrow."

Arthur nodded. A gentle smile on his lips. "That was the one. Long blond hair, piercing blue eyes. I seem to recall you saying that you thought the way the wind combed his hair was...majestic?"

She snorted now. "Gods I was such a fool. I thought he was going to show up outside my room one day and 'sweep' me off my feet." She looked up at him and saw how he was biting back a laugh. "Did I ever tell you about the time I painted the ceiling in my room after a picture of him that I cut from a newspaper? I even wrote a little message under it that said 'I'm coming to dust all your troubles away'."

They both broke out in laughter at that. The depressing mood that filled the room shattered. After a while they managed to calm themselves and they laid in silence for a time. Finally Arthur spoke. "The news from the goblins might do the children a bit of good. Give them something to hope for."

"Arthur just because he's alive doesn't mean..." The words were hard on her tongue, stopping in her throat. But they were true none the less. That Harry was alive meant nothing. No, it meant more. But so little of it could be optimistic.

"Next week we'll take the children out." He said, not allowing the depression to seep back into their hearts. "I'll use some of my sick days and we can spend some time in the muggle world, away from all this dejection. We can take Bill and Charlie to a museum so they can look over the muggles flying machines and Egyptian exhibits. Percy can visit a City Hall, maybe ask a few questions about how their systems work. The twins can look in on muggle invention for their jokes and I'm sure Ron will be happy enough to just get out the house."

"What about Ginny?"

He thought for a moment. "Maybe we can take a trip to a...circus I think there called. It's a place where the muggles put on large shows for entertainment. I here they're quite popular with families." Molly agreed and they spent the rest of the night planning for the following week and just otherwise talking. Happy for the distraction in these troubled times.

**TBH**

Xenophilius Lovegood idly watched his daughter while she laid amongst the small gathering of flowers in their back yard. She was rested on her back with her legs pulled up, a large booklet of sketch paper resting against them while a box of coloring tools sat beside her. The day was bright and beautiful with hardly a cloud in the sky. A warn breeze waved the flowers and branches of trees, tossing his hair before his eyes. He leaned back in his lounge chair with a small notebook on his lap filled with various notes and details for the next edition of his magazine 'The Quibbler'. But his mind was focused on other things. His daughter for the most part.

Luna Lovegood had always been a shy, soft-spoken girl. With the exception of Ginny Weasley, she had no friends to call her own and whenever she was given the chance to make new ones, she choose instead to go off and play on her own. Perhaps on some level it was his fault. His daughter had quite happily taken to his strange fascinations for unheard creatures and conspiracies. Going as far as to borrow his special equipment in search for Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and Grumpkins. But for the past month she had been acting rather tame. No longer would she wander off to look for the fanciful creatures in which they believed, nor would she climb into his and his wife's bed at night to sing wonderfully strange songs whose origins she refused to share. Instead she spent her days drawing. Drawing what, he was unsure. Whenever he or his wife Pandora would approach the girl she would hide her work quickly and act as if everything was normal. And that unnerved him.

The soft padding of bare feet on hard wood whispered in the air and the scent of maple and jasmine tickled his nose. "How is she?" Asked a soft singing voice. Arms wrapped around him from behind. Soft blond hair tangled with his own.

"The same." He answered to his wife. "She hasn't moved from that spot in over an hour."

The arms held tighter. "How many has she redone?" Too often Luna would start one of her drawings only to stop some way through and rip it to shreds before starting over, and whenever she did her face would scrunch in pain, her hands fisting her hair and tears stinging her eyes. When asked, she would complain of a headache and burning eyes. Nothing they gave her helped.

"None." He responded. The relief in his voice match the relief in her waning hold. "She sketches for seconds at a time and then stops. I think I hear her sing sometimes but I can't make out the words." They rested in silence as they watched. Sure enough Luna would occasionally bring her hand up to the booklet and draw for a few moments before stopping and Pandora felt that if she strained her ears she could make out the soft song of her daughters voice.

"What do you think she's drawing?" Pandora asked.

Xeno hummed, unsure. "Whatever it is, she's using a lot of black."

"And red." She stated. "I found discarded crayon wrapping in the garbage next to her bed along with used up markers and pens, all red. I think she even took some of my red lipstick." Her voice was weak and fearful. Red had so many uses, so many meanings. Despite how lovingly open-minded and whimsical their daughter was she never did anything without meaning, even if they didn't see it at first. From every bizarre saying to every random jig, their daughter put meaning into her actions. Black on the other hand had few implications, and none of them were pleasant. Darkness, secrets and mystery, negativity, authority. In some cultures in symbolized the transition between the end of one thing and the beginning of something new. But mostly It meant night. It meant dark moods and dark thoughts. It meant death. "I'm also missing my favorite shade of green."

"The bright one or the dark?" He whispered. '_The glow of life or the shade of rot?'_

"The bright one." Her voice was slightly more hopeful. "She must have started needing it recently." '_I can only hope it means good things.'_

When the hour grew late the family retreated to the dining room for a hot meal made by Pandora. They ate and talked happily about their day. Xeno with his new articles, Pandora about some new spells she was aiding the ministry with, and Luna about anything that came to mind. Not once did she mention her drawings. When it came time Pandora brought her daughter upstairs for bed. She ran a bath while Luna undressed and leapt in, sending water and bubbles splashing out and onto the floor. Pandora escaped the cascade with a preemptive water repellent charm, having grown used to her daughters messy bathing habits. She scrubbed her back and lathered her platinum blonde hair think. She used her long nails to gently scratch her daughters scalp, something she found to always calm the girl. The room was tranquil with only the sounds of fizzing suds and waving water and her ministrations echoing off the walls.

"Momma?" Luna's sweat voice cut through the spell.

"Yes darling?" Pandora asked, now washing the soap from her hair with a plastic bowl they kept next to the tub.

"Can shadows talk?"

She stopped, her hands frozen mid pour. Luna wash looking up at her, directing small trails of soapy water away from her eyes. "What?"

Luna moaned when her efforts to protect her eyes failed. With an apology Pandora gently emptied the remaining water across her face. "I asked if shadows could talk."

"I don't believe they do sweetie, why?"

Luna looked past her mother's face as if she was seeing something else. "I keep having these dreams where I'm standing in a scary forest with two other people, only I don't think I'm really there. One of them is a boy, I think, he looks like a girl but he has a boys voice. Only I think he might be two people."

"What makes you think that?" Pandora was starting to shake. Her daughter dreamed often enough but those dreams were of fairies and flying pigs and smiling clouds not people, never people or dark places. Something wasn't right. She could feel it in the air, in the magic that surrounded them and filled her, and she could see it in her daughters eyes. They looked to bright, to knowing.

"Well he looked like one person but sometimes when I see him he has two faces, like two pictures put together and held before a light. The face that he has most is nice but the other one is scary." She hugged he knees and despite the hot water she was submerged in, she trembled.

Pandora swallowed dryly. "And the other person?"

She shook more and Pandora pulled her from the bath and wrapped her in her large cannery yellow towel. She cast a strong warming charm over the two of them and it help, somewhat. "The other is the shadow. I don't like it. It's always tall and skinny and hunched over and it talks like a breeze. It always comes for the boy in the forest and it wears these huge robes and it has boney hands, at least I think it does, it's always black. It keeps talking to the boy about things. I don't like it when it talks. It's always whispering and whenever it does the second face starts screaming. But the boy just listens. I think he likes the shadow because he'll talk back to it. Sometimes he smiles, other times he cries, but he always talks back to it."

"What does it say?" she tried desperately to keep the fear from her voice, she wasn't sure if it worked.

"I only hear it sometimes and when I do it says thing like; 'you must find another who knows me' and 'more must follow' or 'it will come to an end soon'. I don't like it when he says that. The boy cries when he does."

Pandora's hold tightened and she desperately wished her husband was here. "How often do you have these dreams?" she was afraid of the answer.

"A couple days. I've had other dreams too, and the boys in them too, but not the shadow. Sometimes I'm there with him, like I'm actually there standing beside him. He'll talk to me sometimes but I can never hear what he says. I'm sure it's something good though because I can feel myself smiling and laughing. The other face was gone in those dreams. And sometimes I see others. I don't remember their faces, but I know we must like each other because we all smile and talk and laugh."

Pandora had to forcefully crush the rising panic building in her chest. What where these dreams? Why was she having them? Who was the boy and the others? "Honey would you like to stay with your father and I tonight?" Panicking wouldn't help, right now she needed to focus on comforting her daughter. When she gave a weak nod she helped her dress and told her to bring her pillow while she made her way the her room. Xeno was already in bed but he sat up when he saw the almost horrified look on her face.

"What's wrong?" He asked, and she told him. She told him all about the dreams. About the boy with two faces and the shadow, about their daughter in the dreams and the others. "These aren't just dreams Xeno I can feel it. She never has dreams like this and with the way she's been acting, I don't know for sure but I think these might be visions." The implication scared the both of them. If these were then what was their daughters place in them.

"Where is Luna?" It shouldn't take this long to get a pillow. As if summoned the girl padded into the room, her sketching booklet and pillow held tight to her chest. Without a word she climbed into the bed and nestled against her father, her mother following behind. Xeno caught his wife's eyes and together they looked to their little girl. "Do you plan on drawing in your sleep sweetheart?" He tried to asked jokingly. Pandora's story had shaken his nerves fiercely.

But Luna shook her head and handed him the booklet. He hesitated, she had never allowed them to see them before and she would even hide it in her room when she went to bed. He took it from her hands calmly and Luna just smiled and set her pillow between them before resting against it. With a shared look to his wife he opened the booklet to its first page. He wished he hadn't.

The first page was a crude, childish picture of a tall figure that must have been the shadow. Like his wife had told him the figure was tall, at least compared to the drawings background. It sat atop a small cave in some indistinguishable forest. Its form was long and unnaturally thin and it sat hunched with what must have been the hood of its robes drooping over its face. The next image was of the same figure standing before a simple house. The windows were blown out and smoke leaked from the empty panes. The next was drawn much better than the previous ones and the couple was almost amazed that it was made by a child, even their own. It was of a different person. What looked like a child was curled into a tight ball in the center of a vacant room. his back was to them and his clothing looked too large for his body. The image after was of the same child only this time it sat facing them. His legs were crossed and his hands rested on his lap and held what looked to be a wand. Pandora got her answers as to what became of her favorite lipstick because whoever this boy was his eyes shown an intense electrical green while his long hair was a bloody shade of red. Something coiled around his shoulders and the two had to squint to make out the vague outlining of a snake. Its dime yellow eyes seemed to stare right at them. The drawing that followed was...horrifying. A small body stood proud amongst what could only be a litter of corpses of every size, from full grown adults to the smallest of children. The space between each one was smeared thick with red crayon and lipstick. But the figure stood tall and was dressed in black smeared robes. The images that followed it were no less unsettling. Figures of varying sizes and shapes stood amongst shattered bodies or destroyed buildings. One showed a group of twelve standing atop a burning castle while another had a lone person kneeling before a monstrous abomination clawing its way from a pillar of purple light..

Xeno's hands shook so violently that he was having a hard time seeing the final image. It was of the boy. He looked somewhat older this time, his red hair twice the length it was before and the snake that was with him before now sat tall and thick beside him on a grassy field. His bright green eyes glowed through his hair and he wore a dark duster that brushed the ground and bagged over his hands. Baggy pants and thick boots protected his lower half. His head was tilted and a twisted, almost deranged smile pulled and his lips. At his back was a collective of dark shapes, unidentifiable figures lined the space behind him forming a solid mass of shadows. Some heads stood taller than others and only some of them looked human. Pairs of bright eyes of yellows and reds and blues and white were dotted every here and there. In the sky settled and object, whether it was the moon or the sun neither of them could say. But whatever it was felt almost insignificant before the great, black hand that held it in its grasp.

Xeno shakingly closed the book and turned for his wife. Her face mirrored his with unspeakable terror and trepidation. Neither could find a word to say to the other but they knew their thoughts. Were these the dreams that plagued their daughter? What did they mean for her? Why was she having them? Were they really just dreams?

Between them Luna laid sleeping, oblivious to her parents fears. A soft smile graced her face, kind knowing and pure with no fears for the future.


	6. Distorted truths and shatterd hearts End

Well here it is. it was a bitch to write because it started to turn into something else and i didn't want to end it half way. It took this long because of a mix of procrastination, stress, real life shit that is becoming solved thankfully and games and books.

Enjoy, read, share, review please, criticism always welcome, review, drink cool-aid, save your money, its 2am and i am slowly loosing my mind because im tired but im prolonging sleep to write this dumb shit that people don't even read, review.

Necromage will be updated within a weak, it will not be a long chapter. second coming is no where near its next update but that will not be a long chapter either. this is a long chapter though. really long, for me anyway. enjoy

oh and review.

* * *

She watched him as he laid on his side, weeping and broken. The dark news that their wardens had delivered had stolen the last of his bravado and mockery. His cries were raw and painful from the hours of sobbing. It tore at her heart. She wanted to help him. To give him the same comfort that he gave her. His counsel and witty humor were the only peace she had for the past five years. When she had first been brought to this veritable hell on earth she believed it to be the end.

As she was forcefully dragged from the leaky boat along with her husband and brother-in-law the guard had seized her head by her hair and forced it to look up.

Lightning flashed within inky black clouds turning them a mockery of grey, swirling overhead in some great flat vortex. Rain as heavy as iron battered her bruised body and through its thick veil she could see it, the silhouetted monolith jutting from the rocky jagged land on which she stood.

Her captor pressed his mouth to her ear and hissed. "Do you see it bitch? Well get a long hard look at it 'cause this place'll be all that you know from now on." His hand twisted painfully in her hair. "The two of them were my friends. We graduated together, and while I may not be able to return the favor I can at least rest easy knowin' that something else is doing it for me."

She wanted to say something back, some scathing comment that would send him into a laughable fit of rage. But she couldn't. Only five minutes on this dammed rock and she could already feel her drive fleeing, as if all her will and hate was being pushed aside. Somewhere next to her she heard a whimper.

An ear stabbing screech called out somewhere atop the jagged slope that led to the prison. Great rusted hinges burdening some massive weight, and then she saw them, black shapes gliding through the grey haze of freezing rain. Her captor's grip slacked some and she fell to her knees. The water beneath her fingers began to freeze over, spider webs of frost raced up her arms while the burlap uniform she wore became stiff. Her breath waved out like a flag of smoke. The shadows circled them and one of the guards took a step towards them.

"These three have been sentenced here by the Ministry for life without chance of bail or parole. They are each to be placed in the maximum security levels of Azkaban and separated into different sections away from each other."

Three shadows moved for them, tall terrible things clocked in tattered robes. Skeletal hands slid from massive sleeves and seized them by their arms. The spots they touched burned with cold. Coming out of whatever trance that held them the two males began screaming and thrashing, cursing and pleading, crying and promising. She stayed silent, her head lowered in expectance. Together they were dragged before the monolith, through massive rusted doors and up a tall winding staircase. The screeching of rusted hinges signaled the sealing of their fates.

She noted with some ire that the people who built Azkaban did an excellent job. It was far, far larger on the inside then it looked from the outside. Most likely done by the most powerful and complex undetectable extension charms ever cast. With each flight they ascended they passed a collective of twisting corridors that went on and on and on into the darkness. Every here and there she spotted a lone Dementor moving into one of the cells, screams would always greet them.

After being dragged up an eternity of steps they were finally separated. Rabaston went first and she watched him fade into the blackness of the tight hallway, kicking and screaming all the way. Another flight and Rodolphus went next, silent and sobbing. Another two flights and it was finally her turn. The creature dragged her through the claustrophobic corridor, the walls and ceiling seemed to press in as if trying to crush her soul. Black crags littered the walls leaking light trickles of water which fed the growing moss. It covered the walls and floor like a soft carpet. But the spaces in front of some cells were blank with rock and she could make out faint scratch marks in the stone.

They stopped before a cell, it was a small cramped thing that was covered head to foot in moss and mildew. There was a narrow barred window with no glass that allowed the islands endless storm to fly in. A dark stained mat laid against the right side, flat and slimy against the ground.

The creature opened the thick metal gate and shoved her inside. She hit the floor hard on her side and slide across the uneven ground. With a loud slam the gate closed and the creature floated away. But its coldness stayed. Shivering she wrapped her arms across her chest and rubbed her shoulders in a vain attempt for warmth. Her uniform was soaked with half frozen water and when she looked about her cell she saw nothing that could be used as a blanket, just a thin, slimy mat shoved against the wall. She scooted up to the far end of the left wall, close to the door and away from the window. Pulling her legs to her chest she shivered as her bare feet slid over the slick moss carpet of the cell.

'Damn that man.' She thought bitterly. 'Damn him and damn the others, bloody cowards. If they would have come with us we wouldn't have gotten caught, could have fought our way through the Aurors. But no, they wanted to go play politics with their tails between their legs.' She lifted the bottom of her shirt and slipped it over her knees before going back to her shoulders. 'Then that, that, bloody fool had to go on a fucking crusade against the Cult of Pigeons and get us caught.' She rubbed at her shoulders with a fury. "Wish they'd give me a bloody sheet or something!" she growled out.

"You and me both. If the Dementors ever grow a conscious, do give me a notice, I could do with a good shave." A voice called out from outside her cell.

Whirling around she stared out her cell door, squinting against the dark. "Who's there?"

"Oh, no one special. Though must admit I'm surprised they placed someone else up here with me, must not have wanted me to get lonely, or someone outside doesn't like you." The voice was coming from the cell directly across from hers. In the random flickers of lighting she could just barely make out the outline of someone leaning against the cells gate. "Word of advice, don't go eating all of your moss to soon. The guards don't have scheduled meals for us up here. Some poor bloke a few months back ate all his in the first month, had to start scraping at the patches outside his cell before he finally starved."

That voice, it sounded so familiar, but she couldn't quite place where she heard it before. She didn't reply, to tired and drained from the events of the past week to continue talking. Instead she decided to lean back against the wall and tried to catch whatever sleep she could. The rumble of thunder that shook the prison actually aided her somewhat but the cold was making it difficult. Eventually however her fatigue won out and she finally managed to slip into peaceful oblivion.

A blood curdling scream woke her some hours later. Franticly reaching out as she woke to fend off an attacker with a wand she didn't have she noticed that there was no one else in her cell. Then the cold hit her. It was a deep, horrible chill that ignored flesh and muscle and went straight for the bone, making them throb in pain. Again the scream rang out. It was coming from the other cell, but before she could move to see what was happening her cells door burst open. It glided in, trailed by a think mist that seemed to spawn from the stone itself. A hand of flesh covered bone seized her by the throat and lifted her, feet flailing off the ground and hands pulling uselessly at the cold appendage. By the gods was it cold. Simple contact burned with ice, the frost biting at her skin. The hand that it wasn't using came up to slowly, ever so slowly remove its draping hood. She had heard the stories, read accounts in the thick volumes from the families library. None of it could prepare her for the sight. The black and grey decaying flesh hugged the mockingly human skull, but instead of a mouth there was only a hole centered in a thin non jaw. Deep pits covered in callused skin replace what should have been eyes. The smell, sweet mother the smell, like a field of frost bitten corpses.

The abomination pulled her closer, the lack of oxygen and pure air making her vision flicker. Then it inhaled, a long deep breath that pulled away all rational thought. And left only madness. Then she too screamed. Every happy memory, every peaceful thought was pulled to the front of her mind and twisted, violated, smashed together and forcefully fused with every horror and regret from her life. It was maddening. Her tenth birthday that brought the long awaited letter, her first murder, the dark mark ritual, her wedding day, the death of her cousin, the Sorting Hat's decision. All of it was taken and twisted before being sucked out and replaced with more memories.

It was too much. Her hands abandoned her throat and made pitiful swings at her captor. It ignored them, unaffected. She didn't remember passing out, but she must have because the next thing she knew she was laying in a tight protective ball, tears long since gone left half crusted trails on her face. The frost in the room had melted away leaving her soaked, but she didn't move to warm herself, it was too painful to try. So she laid there shivering in the dark, her long hair clinging to her face. But she must have made a noise because a voice called out to her.

"Ah good, you're awake. Was beginning to think you died on your first visit, wouldn't be the first time." Despite its hoarseness she could still make out the mockery in his voice. "But luck seems to be on your side today." A faint knocking echoed from outside her cell, like wood hitting stone. "It seems our hosts have seen fit to feed us."

Lifting her head painfully from the ground she saw a large stone bowl laying just inside the cell door, an old wood spoon stuck vertically in its contents. Joints ached and popped with each movement, her head throbbed every second so that when she finally lifted the bowl to her lap she was in too much pain to even think about eating.

"I would suggest not tasting the first bite. Or smelling it. It's not exactly solid so all you have to do is swallow." A dull scraping sounded from his cell. She was barely able to make out his words but she followed them. It didn't help. The cold left her nose stuffed and running so smelling wasn't a problem, but whatever fool said that not smelling your food would mute the taste was a bloody liar. The concoction was thick and paste like. The outside of it had crusted over from the air leaving it cold and hard and tasting like sour cheese but the inside was warm and was the flavor of stewed weeds and herbs. The first bite was hard to swallow, the second was worse, by the fourth she started gagging, amazed that she was able to keep it all down.

"Told you so. Try drinking some water, there's an indent by the window that catches whatever leaks in."

Sure enough there was, a small but deep pocket of stone that curved up to the open window. It looked deep enough to hold a gallon and a half and was so full that it spilled over into a rather large patch of moss. It tasted like the very stone that held it but did a good job of erasing the aftertaste of the 'food' she was given. The following minutes were spent between taking quick bites of her meal and chasing the taste with stoned water. The endless storm that raged outside saw that the pocket was never emptied.

Plopping down back on the dryer side of the cell she growled. "That was the foulest thing I have ever tasted."

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it. Eventually."

"So..what are you in for?" She asked, desperate for something to do to pass the time.

"Murder." He said though it sounded more of a joke then an honest answer.

Its wasn't surprising. Most of the prisoners in Azkaban were either murderers or rapists. "And who exactly did you kill?"

He snorted. "No one."

Ah, now there was something interesting. "Oh, so your innocent then?" She mocked.

"In a way. I failed to kill someone who deserved it and was framed for his crimes. I suppose that makes me partially guilty."

"I'm sure half the people in here would say the same thing."

"And how many of them would be telling the truth?"

"Hm." Some time passed in silence before she finally asked. "So who was he, this man you failed to kill?"

"An old friend of mine."

"And does this friend have a name?"

"He does, one that I'm sure you know. You did graduate together."

A jolt went through her but she kept her voice calm. The war saw that a lot of her former classmates ended up here. Or in a grave. "And how would you know when I graduated, or where for that matter?"

He laughed. It was a hollow, mocking laugh that made her wish they shared a cell so she could throttle whoever the man was. "Because I know you Bella"

She scooted over to the barred gate and slammed a flat hand against it, making it rattle. "WHO ARE YOU?" Across the narrow hall that separated their holdings she heard him move closer to his gate.

"Come now, don't tell me you've forgotten your beloved cousin." Lighting flashes outside filling the cells but for a brief moment with light. And she saw him. Though his black hair was unkempt and his skin was paler then she remembered there was no way she would mistake that crooked mocking grin.

"Sirius?" She couldn't believe her eyes.

"Hello Bella, longtime no see."

"What-how-why are you in here?"

"I told you, I was framed for murder. Honestly girl you have only been in here for a day, you can't have gone mad already, err, madder."

"Don't you start with me!" She bite out. "Who framed you?"

"_Peter Pettigrew_." He Spat the words with such venom that Bellatrix shot back as if slapped or perhaps that was from the shock of the name.

"Peter? Wasn't he the fat boy in that little mischief social club you were part of?"

"Yes." His voice was hard now, lacking all of its playfulness.

She didn't know what to say to that. She didn't know what to say to any of what had happened this past month. The Dark Lord, her master, vanquished at the hands of a boy, her and her dimwit husband and his brother's arrest. And now finding that her cousin Sirius was to be her neighbor inmate. She didn't know which in that list was worse. After they began their first year of Hogwarts, no, even before that the two of them had grown distant. There was a time once, so long ago that the two of them and her sisters Narcissa and Andromeda, were as close as family could be. And then the whispers came. Tales and rumors of a powerful lord that was fighting against the infection that the Magical World was suffering. Mudbloods and half-breeds twisting ancient traditions and sullying The magical world with Muggle beliefs to better suit _their _ideologies, because _they_ thought that's how things should be. That _they_, ignorant children who where only just learning how the world truly worked, how large the globe really was, knew how the world should be better then the people that spent their _entire lives_ as part of it. It was this that caused the split between them.

The Black family was one of the Many Pureblooded families that threw their support behind this mysterious lord. Keeping with the traditions they knew so well; alliances were made, treaties were drafted between long rivaling houses and marriage contracts were drawn, all while they were still in school. Sirius was the first to leave. Having never taken to the families Pureblood elitism already caused great stress between him and his parents Orion and Wulburga Black. After he was sorted into Gryffindor, a fact that greatly shamed the family, he took every possible moment he could to flaunt his rejections of the families ideals until his parents finally had enough and disowned him, sending him to live with his friend and distant cousin, James Potter and his family. Andromeda was disowned some years later when she married a muggle-born wizard she had been secretly dating immediately after graduating. Only Narcissa had stayed with her. The two of them were married off to two old allies of the Black family, Narcissa to the Malfoy's and her to the Lestrange's.

"So," he said, snapping her out of her thoughts. "What brings a lovely young thing like you to this shithole. Not that I can't guess. Is Muggle torturing not everything you dreamed it would be?" Gods she wished she could slap him. She couldn't, at least not with her hands.

"Oh it was everything I hoped for and more and I've gotten quite good at it. A fact that the Longbottom's could attest." She simpered.

Thunder rumbled in the storm. "What did you do?" His voice was colder then the stones that held them.

"Why do you care, beloved cousin? Knowing won't do you any good. Not in here."

"What did you do?!"

"I never knew Alice had such a pair of lungs. Wonder how she sounded in bed?"

"WHAT DID YOU DO WOMEN?!" It echoed through the empty halls louder than any thunderclap.

"We tortured them. Alice and Frank. Me, Rudolph and Rabastan raided their house and had a little fun. 'Course the party got boring after a few hours, but torturing the host into insanity tends to do that. Shame the rest of the Order of Magical Turkeys weren't there, they would have loved it."

There was a great slam of metal on stone as Sirius threw his weight against the bars, screaming and cursing. Bellarix ignored his words. The time after his rage had died down was spent in silence, save for the clapping of thunder, the rushing of wind and the slapping of rain against stone. Bellatrix chose to make her bed on the moss carpeted floor instead of the straw mat turned slime. She laid her head on her hands and closed her eyes and mind to the world.

"Why?" The question came suddenly some weeks later. The words choked and rough. Apparently there was something about them that the dementors liked because they made it a habit to visit often. The visits where hard on her. Her once flawless creamy skin that hugged supplely to her light build had shriveled and sagged and paled like a water logged pillow. Her hair which she used to keep flowing and black with a few stripes of white was now grey and straw like. She quickly discovered that aside from a quick tour of the cells that some Auro's made once every two weeks, only the demetors patrolled Azkaban. '_Jus' checking if any o' you scum expired yet_.'

She didn't know why she wanted to answer. Maybe the silent hatred between the two had grown dull.

"The Dark Lord was cast down by your blood traitor friend's son, the Potter brat. We couldn't find him so we went for the Saggyrumps."

"But why? Why them, why anyone, why didn't you just give up?"

She ground her teeth together. "What is it to you?"

"I want to know what the bloody hell is going through that brain of yours that turned you in to a psychopath! You where always hard Bella but never cruel. What happened that made you want to butcher your own schoolmates?!"

"And why do you care?" She screamed over her shoulder.

"BECASUE WE WERE A FAMILY! We did everything together, went everywhere together. But when the rumors started flying you took to them like a starved dog along with the rest of the house. It took Regulus' death to get them to come into their senses and cut ties with Voldemort but you still stayed by his side like a bloody lapdog!"

Her anger snapped something deep in her mind, so hard that it felt like a physical event. Jumping up to her feet she whirled around to glare hot death at him. The evening suns light struggled through the thick torrent of clouds to allow a grey light into the prisons halls. Despite being in here over a month longer then her Sirius hardly looked any worse for wear. Aside from his ragged look from lack of decent meals the presence of the Dementors had hardly touched him. There were even times when they would visit them and she would be the only one screaming. "_FAMILIY?"_ She spat the word with such a fury that might have given one of their wardens pause. "That's a rich word coming from you, _dear cousin._"

"Me? What did I ever do to you?" He was also on his feet pressed against the bars, hands holding them white knuckled.

"_YOU LEFT!_" The words where a sob as much as they were a shout.

He shot back as if struck, his eyes where wide and questioning. "W-what?"

She punched at the metal, ignoring the sharp pain it caused her. "YOU LEFT. YOU FUCKING LEFT US! You strutted around and bragged how different you were from the rest of the family after you were sorted into the Kitten Club until your parents threw you out and then you just ignored us, even at school. You left me and Narcissa and Andromeda to deal with the families politics and what it meant for us in the Snake den!"

He opened and closed his mouth, like a fish in need of water. "And what does that have to do with it? From what I remember you _liked_ the being a part of the families affairs. In fact I remember _someone_ saying that they wanted to become Lady Black after they graduated so they could help '_put an end to the muggle filth infecting our lives'_. Whatever happened to that, huh? Isn't that why you joined the Death Eaters, so you could keep the Pure bloods on their golden pedestal? You were so damn proud when they sorted you into Slytherin that you had to double the size of your cap so it could fit over your ego."

"EGO!? You were the one prancing around the school like the sun was shining out your arse! I was going to do the family proud by forging new alliances with the other Purebloods in the common room, just like the family wanted us to."

"And what? Doing that meant having to join a cult of insane murderers and rapists? Did it mean having to slaughter Muggle-borns or butcher innocent people in their homes? Did it mean having to torture women and children that had nothing to do with anything? Did it mean that you had to bend your knees and lift your skirt to some abomination calling himself a lord, the same noseless bastard that killed off our family?"

He was screaming now, almost ten years of frustration and grief that had been building up now poured from his mind and through his lips. The death of his brother, the betrayal and slaughter of his family after they disavowed Voldemort, the corruption of his cousins, and the war. So many had died during Voldemort's rise to power, faces both old and new and most of them dear had joined the fighting only to be struck down.

"IT MEANT BEING BRED AND PARADED LIKE AN EXOTIC PET!"

His mouth closed and stayed closed, not expecting her answer.

"When your parents decided to sign a marriage contract between me and Rodolphus I accepted it. Even though I knew what a dense prick he was I still accepted because I knew what it meant to the family and how it would aid us. When I heard whispers of a Lord that was fighting for the ascension of The Magical World to its proper place above the muggles I searched for every opportunity, every hint of information that would allow me to join him because I knew he was in the right. So when Rodolphus told me that he not only knew who this Lord was but was also a part of his order I thought it a blessing. Hell, I even rode the bastard for all his worth when he got several others to put in a good word for me." Her voice was so low at first that Sirius had to strain his ears to hear her.

"And then I met him Sirius. On the summer after my fifth year Rodolphus took me to a gathering of other members and I met him." Through the grey light he could see her face, head tilted back and eyes wide with wonder. "By the gods Sirius he was magnificent. His very presence saturated the air with a magical aura so thick that it choked the life out of all others. Obliterated them like a hurricane would a paper house. Rodolphus warned me before we went that the man looked like a demon who mocked human form. But that's not what I saw. What I saw was inspirational. Here was a man so powerful, that had delved into forbidden arts so dark and twisted that they had corrupted his very being, and he _still_ conquered them. He had dived into the depths of magic and chose to show the world what a wizard could be." She was pacing now. Stalking around her cell and moving her arms around as she spoke. The same way she always did when she talked about something she was truly passionate about. Like the happy girl she used to be. "And when I was finally presented to him I thought my heart would explode out of my chest."

The air was damp and cold in the depths of the cave that she was led to. Rodolphus had visited her at her parents' house and had woken her in the dead of night. "It's time. I got permission to bring you to a meeting." It was all she needed to hear, a week prior he had told her how he convinced several of his friends to put in a word for her. She had only met two of them but apparently the rattle of gold was enough to give the others a sudden knowledge of her. It had taken them an hour of seemingly pointless travel using brooms and secretly stashed portkeys to move about the country. Whoever this Lord was he was a paranoid fellow.

When they reached the back of the cave Rodolphus took out his wand and waved it before a random flow stone mound, muttering some words in a dead language she didn't know. The mound melted away to reveal a large door made from a deep, seamless red stone. Glowing runes stained a ring around a long slithering snake that was winding its way through a human skull. Rolling up his sleeve he presented his arm to the snake, a tattoo appeared on his wrist and pulsed with a faint green light. The snakes eyes mimicked it and the door sunk into the ground. Inside was a long stone hall that stretched back some forty yards. The stone was smooth and featureless save for the mounted torches. At the back was a gathering of people, a thick cluster of men and women, young and old, garbed in black robes. And before them, raised high on elevated steps was a throne that was seemingly carved into the wall. It was carved into the likeness of a hydra with two heads coming up the sides and jutting out as arms and the top half of a giant head looming over it, sharp teeth as long as swords ready to bite down. A great number of smaller snakes slivered and twisted around one another to form the remainder of the throne while the rest spilled down the steps as if to ward off any that wished to climb them.

And atop it all, he sat. Tall and skinny, his pasty white skin faintly glowing with an unearthly light and marred by a number of thin black veins. He lacked any semblance of hair, facial or otherwise. His head was strangely shaped, long yet flat with no nose or lips. His eyes were thin and sunk deeply into his face. But they glowed a fierce red. His legs were crossed high as he sat somewhat slanted in the large throne. One hand rested on an arm while other the rested easily in his lap, giving him an elegant almost feminine physique.

As she moved closer the air became thick and heavy, saturated with an overwhelming aura that made standing upright a difficult task. Her breaths came hard and frequent and her vision blurred. Sweat trickled down her spine while her hands shook. It was almost unbearable. She had practiced the darkest magic's she could find both in and outside of her families library. She had held items cursed and powerful from their vaults under Gringotts and practiced them with an expertise that made her parents sing praises. Nothing matched what she was feeling now. This creature, this man had delved into the depths of magic, not to practice or learn, but to conquer. And he had succeeded. Something that very few Wizards could ever hope to boast.

A hand on her back brought her out of her thoughts, short nails clawing into her skin. "Only speak when spoken to and don't you dare do anything to embarrass me." Rodolphus threatened into her ear, just loud enough for those close by to hear. His words did nothing to her. She knew the only reason he was acting so bold was because he wanted to look dominant in front of his 'friends'. They both knew who was really in charge.

He pushed her through the crowd and left her at its edge as he continued on before the base of the steps and knelt, head lowered in submission. The man on the throne gazed down at him impassively. "My Lord, as promised and by the grace of your permission I have brought my fiancé, Bellatrix of The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black here before you. Though she is still in her youth she has shown great potential in various magical arts being at the top of her classes in Defense Against The Dark Arts, Charms, and Runes. She is also highly adept at the Dark Arts which she practices and explores whenever she is able like a true Pureblood should. As I have stated at our last meeting and will state again for all to hear, Bellatrix Black has shown not only strong interest in joining our society but has also expressed her beliefs in our cause and has demonstrated the will and passion to do what must be done for the good of all and see the tasks of our order through. This I, Rodolphus of The House Lestrange do so swear on my blood, and honor as a Pureblood, the rightful rulers of the world."

When he finished the words there was a resounding "Hear hear." From all those in attendance. The Lord raised his head to look about the gathering. "So the words are spoken before me and your gathered brothers and sisters." His voice was a light wheezing rasp that made the skin on her head and spine crawl. "Tell me, are there any here that would attest to dear Rodolphus' claims?"

A boy around the same age as her stepped from the throng and she recognized him instantly. His long blond hair fell down to his shoulders and his thin frame looked all the more slimmer in the tight fitting robes. "I, Lucius of The Most Noble House of Malfoy do here by swear in agreement with Rodolphus of The House Lestrange to the considered initiation of Bellatix of The Most Ancient and Nobel House of Black into our society." Again the gathering gave a "Hear hear" and others began stepping forward. Charles Crab, Hector Goyle, Bartemius Crouch Jr ,and Amycus Carrow.

In turn they spoke their consents and each time the Lord nodded once before looking to the next. When no more stepped forward his eyes finally fell onto her. Her entire body hummed, her breath came in short burst and she felt strangely cool. With a finger he motioned her forward. The few steps to the thrones base felt like an eternity. Not once did they break eye contact, not once did they blink. When she finally stopped he spoke. "Bellatrix Black, you are here before me at the insistence of your fiancé Rodolphus and several others, each one claiming that you wish to join us and our cause." There was a question in his voice, at least she thought there was and she answered.

"Yes my Lord." She was somewhat proud that her voice didn't shake.

He nodded once. "Then open your mind to me child, so that I may see for myself if you are truly worthy."

Rodolphus had warned her of that as well and what would happen if she refused.

The probe came suddenly but not forcefully. Her mind was still wrapped securely in its defenses. She was preparing to bring them down when something in his eyes told her not to. So subtle and calm that she doubted anyone else had noticed. Was he challenging her? Was this a test? Roldolphus never mentioned mental tests to her. Was he sworn to secrecy or was this just for her? So instead, slowly, carefully incase she was making a mistake and need to stop, she built them up, layering them with every wall and trickery that her years of study had taught her. When it was finished she gave a small, hesitant nod. The probe came down.

She expected a hammer blow, a crash of mighty thunder that would shatter her defenses and leave her mind crippled and open. She expected a forceful battle of wills. The probe came down slowly, gently brushing against the outermost defense, a solid wall of mental strength, searching testing then searching again. Then it just rested against it and the wall dissolved. As did the second and third. She didn't panic though. Despite the sickly cold that surged through whenever a barrier went down she didn't so much as flinch. The first few layers where basic defenses. The rest weren't so simple.

The Lord looked to be getting bored, disappointed that her mental strengths were so pitiful. He set a firm glare on Rodolphus and the others. How dare they lie to him and present this weakling. Angry and mock filler whispers roused up around them. She could feel her fiancés anger and shame. His probe abandoned its gentle test and began smashing down the walls like a child would a stack of blocks. He fell for her trap. Deceit is the strongest weapon when defending the mind. Then the Lord broke through the outer layer of simple defenses and touched her true capabilities.

The blow came down and her will rose to meet it. They connected and the second trick was played. A white hot blast forced the hammer back. A starburst of false memories and imagined pain.

He jumped, or at least it looked like a jump compared to the statuette like stillness he adopted since she first arrived. His arm muscles twitched, a vein in his skull bulged. Just for a second. Just for one second. He looked away from the others and focused back on her. Just a second. None of the others saw it. One instant moment. But she did, and he knew she did. She couldn't stop the self-satisfied smirk even if she wanted to.

The probe stopped. Hovering above her mind like the moon did the earth. No emotion laid in his gaze and she thought she might have gone too far. Her smile fell, an apology ready in its place. Then his lips twitched. Just for a second. And she knew. It was a game. Since the start it was a game and he thought she wasn't playing. And now he knew otherwise.

The others were forgotten.

The probe came back down. Testing then searching then testing again. Sometimes she let him, other times she lashed out. A warning. A challenge. She was playing now and she wanted to have fun. The hammer came and smashed it away. Her head twitched, his didn't. The probe took its place. Testing the new trick. The wall was round smooth, impossibly so. It tried to lay across and dissolve it like the others and slipped off. It tried again and again it slipped like water over oiled glass. There was nothing for it to grip. The hammer came next and it glided across its smoothness. A needle, so thin and perfect that she barely noticed came next. Poking and sliding again and again. What was he doing? The hammer struck and slipped and the needle went back to work. It continued like that, needle hammer needle hammer. Tap slip strike slip. She was confused until the hammer came again. Striking but not slipping. Then she realized, the needle wasn't poking, it was scouring. The doubt and confusion wasn't her, it was him, it was the needle. Scratching out her focus. She was to slow to act. The hammer came and the wall went.

The game went on for how long she couldn't say. She only became aware of the rest of the world when someone said. "Why is this taking so long? What are you doing wench?!"

Rodolphus yelled. "Bella what did I tell you about behaving? Do not waste the masters time with your foolishness!"

So this wasn't normal then? Thinking about it cost her another wall. When she heard someone come up behind her with the intent to punish her for insulting their master, the Lord made a gesture and an audible thud followed. It gave her time to reinforce the next wall.

It was an endless dance of will. Him testing her and her passing but still losing. Though some gave him pause and maybe even hurt him one by one the walls came crashing down. Mental mazes that led to gibbering madness, voids that swallowed thought and hope, mists that trapped you in your deepest desire. All fell one way or another.

A bubble of apprehension was building in her gut, an uncertain fear at what would follow his inevitable victory. One last wall. It was one loaded with desperation and acceptance. She had spent years perfecting it, ever since her father taught her metal defense when she was just a girl of seven. If anyone was ever able to make it this far she knew what the most probable outcome would be, she just refused to go down without leaving a mark.

The probe came down and hers shot out. Fast and sudden like lighting, you wouldn't register it until it struck you. As his probe buried itself into her mind hers was well on its way to destroying his. Layers of deceivingly weak barriers were pulverized, traps and tricks shattered, assaults swatted aside. The probe was lightning, always moving and destroying all in its way. Powered by all the will and magic she could and couldn't spare.

He never panicked, not openly. His face was like stone, cold and emotionless. His mind was more telling. Walls slammed down to block her way, twists and turns and false weaknesses tried to steer her astray. She burst through them. He was panicking. Triumph built in her chest. She was doing it. His probe stopped where it was while hers kept moving. She, a young school girl was about to overpower a fully realized wizard! All the torturous years of study and practice were paying off.

Then her probe stopped. Trapped and unmoving no matter how much she tried, like a bull in a tar pit. The lord smiled down from his throne calm and amused. His mind stilled, reorganizing and fixing itself as if he had cast a simple mending charm. He smiled at her and she remembered the game, and she knew. You could never beat a master at their own game.

His mental probe spread through her mind like water through a sponge. It pulled at her thoughts. Her reasons for joining them, what she wanted, if she would be loyal, what drove her, what she believed about magical society and why. It was so invasive she wanted to scream, to twist and shout for him to get out. But she couldn't move, neither her mind or her body. So she just stayed there. Knelt on the stone floor while someone that wasn't her snooped around her mind. A small part of her mind that was still hers said that it was necessary. _'It's a bloody secret order for Merlin's sake of course they were going to search your mind!'_ Everything else screamed that only she should know her thoughts.

He never dug to deep though. Her mind was open, her memories free for him to explore but he never did. All of the spells that she learned, the methods she used to study, the contents of the Black families vaults or the various family secrets she knew, he ignored them all. Choosing only to search her intentions. Why? Was it an act of trust? A way to avoid the ire of potential allies? Or did he just not care? Having spent years of his life in dedication to the dark arts was it possible that he knew all of these already?

Some of the memories did fall under his gaze unbidden. A side effect to the thorough destruction of her mental barriers.

_Her wand lashed out, a bright red spark sent streaking across the room and striking him in the chest. The impact causing him to flip in the air and land on his chest. She snapped to the side and kicked one of his friends in the knee cap, he wailed until a second kick to the gut took the air from his lunges and he joined the heap of fools on the floor, six in all. They thought they were so freaking clever. Trying to corner her alone were the others were in bed. They knew she liked to stay up past curfew for a few hours of extra study. Why was it that boys felt the need to boast themselves above everything else so pointlessly. _

_Albert Hook stood clutching his chest with the aid of one of his fellow brain-dead chimps who was sporting a newly flattened nose. "Gah, you will pay for that bitch!" _

_She sliced her wand through the air and a new bruise appeared on his cheek. She would have made it a cut but the teachers would freak if they found out that a third year knew such dangerous spells, so she stuck to the basics. She wouldn't need anything more for this lot. The idiot whimpered from the pain. "For Hecate's sake Albert, if you didn't want to be hurt then you should have just stayed in bed. Now piss off I'm trying to read." She moved back to her cushioned chair by the fireplace, a thicvk book sat waiting for her. She whipped back around and batted aside a pathetically weak bolt of magic._

_"DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" Albert yelled though it sounded more of a squeak. "I'm sick of you strutting around pretending that you better than the rest of us. Well guess what, you are NOT! You are just some pathetic girl that doesn't know her place!"_

_She clicked her tongue at him mockingly. "Albert Albert Albert. When will you get it through that thick skull of yours that I don't pretend to better than you, I AM better than you! And as for my place, why, I just so happen to find myself being the daughter to the brother of the head of House black, which would make me...oh a Black of course and last I checked the Blacks where a Most Ancient and Nobles House." She calmly picked up the cup of tea she had left on the side table and sipped from it elegantly, for no other reason than pissing him off further. _

_"Now then given the placement and structure of the Black's family tree I do believe that puts me on the main branch. And what about your family Albert, what titles do they carry?" His face was turning a very impressive shade of red. "Oh right, NONE! Zero zip nada. You come from a blood line of farmers and low class traders with blood purity as your only claim to being 'in equal standing' with the rest of us and the same goes for your toadies too." Two of them actually had the title of Noble attached to their houses but they were still filth in her eyes. "Now why don't you do us all a favor and just go back to bed. You are embarrassing our house with your nonsense."_

_"I won't forget this bitch." He spat at her. "One day I'm going to wipe that smug look from your face."_

_She waved them away absently. When they finally left she turned back and fell back into her chair. 'This is getting out of hand.' She thought tiredly. It was the sixth time that month where someone felt that she needed to be "put in her place". If it wasn't some lowborn nobody looking to prove themselves then it was a stuck up highborn fool that was trying to make a point. Jealously, disregard, hatred, sexism, she seemed to be the target of all of these things at one point or another. So she did what she did best, she proved herself. She proved herself by smacking down the high. She proved herself by stepping on the low. She proved herself by shining in her classes, by overpowering any that thought to take her place as the head of House Slytherin and she made examples out of those that threatened her friends or sisters. Not that they couldn't take care of themselves but only fools walk through a vipers den without protection._

_She drank her tea and it calmed her nerves. "It sounded so much better before I came." Her parents, like all of the Blacks before them, were sorted into House Slytherin. She grew up on tales of how glorious House Slytherin was, how it was a House that only the truly exceptional could be sorted to. Cleary that was no longer the case. Instead she found only a hand full of what was promised. Buried underneath a cesspit of spoiled brats and arrogant weaklings. Hardly anyone in this house at any year could call themselves a true Witch or Wizard. _

_"The house is falling Bella." Her mother explained to her one winters night. "The standard for the Slytherin name has become muddled, a mirror image to the rest of our society." _

_"What can I do? I refuse to belong to a group of incompetent children!"_

_"Then become an example, an inspiration, an icon."_

The probe stopped and he held her gaze. There was something in him, in his eyes, in his mind. This sense of familiarity and...understanding? He retreated from her thoughts. Slow and steady so her mind wouldn't be damaged from the backlash of a quick retreat. But something slipped in or was it placed there intentionally? A memory, piece of himself, an offered payment for what he saw?

_His hand burned. He held it to his chest, violent red warts beginning to spread. They stood over his spot on the corridor floor, the cold hard stone bruising his knees. "What's wrong Riddle, not so smug without this are you?" he wiggled the wand between his thumb and forefinger mocking close but still out of reach. _

_"Little thirdies like you should learn to respect your betters." Another said._

_"And making us look bad in front of the teachers." Another 'tsked' at him._

_He ground his teeth together. "Your incompetence is no fault of mine. Maybe you should try studying instead of boasting about skills you don't have."_

_'CRACK' The first boys palm left a growing mark on his cheek. His face was red with anger. "We are all getting sick of that know-it-all mouth of yours Riddle." The others glared their agreement. _

_"We, or just you?" He bit back. "You three seem to be the only ones that are failing the house." He curled into himself we the boys foot connected with his side. _

_"You just don't know when to learn do you? You can play teacher's pet all you want but your still trash compared to us, always will be." The third boy growled. Riddle said nothing back, choosing to focus instead. _

_"What's wrong, no clever quip?" The first boy asked, tugging at his collar. Bloody thing needed to be re-fitted. Riddle said nothing. _

_The second boy stepped up and hauled him to his feet before cuffing him. "Don't you dare ignore us!" Riddle looked him right in the eyes and smiled. "What the bloody hell are you smilin' fo-URK!" The boy was thrown back across the hall, his arms protectively folded over his gut. Before they could act the third boys legs were pulled into the air causing his head to bash against the floor. The first boys collar was yanked back by an invisible force and he hung three feet off the ground, squirming to be free of his clothes. When his face began to purple and his limbs strength began to fade the hold on his collar vanished and he crashed to the stone, gasping and whimpering along with his friends. _

_The sound of footsteps made him look up. Riddle stood over him, face void of fear or amusement. He bent forward just a bit, just enough to look down at them all and retrieve his wand. "I will always be better than you."_

Her mouth was left ajar and she could hear her blood pounding in her ears. The Lord, Riddle, stared back at her, something unreadable in his red eyes. "Bellatrix Black." Only when he spoke did she realize how quiet the room was with only the crackle of flame and breathing of the others to fill it. "It would seem the words spoken of you were greatly undervalued. You are more fitting to join our group than any I have seen in a long while."

It took her a moment to find her voice. "Th-thank you My Lord." He understood. Constantly proving themselves to those around them, pushing and shoving themselves to their limits, standing alone above their peers. _'We're the same.'_

"The years after that meeting were almost to marvelous to be real. On the summer that same year, after the Dark Mark ritual, he took me on as his only apprentice. It was almost worth it just for the look on Rodolphus' face when he found out." Bella giggled, her voice and face a concoction of hysteria and delirium.

"I learned more in the first year with him then I did throughout all of my years alone. He showed me ways to use magic that I never dreamed were possible, showed me artifacts that defied the very laws of enchantment. Alchemic potions that could freeze lakes solid with but a single drop, charms that could change the weather on a whim, hexes that would hoax entire villages into seeing whatever the caster wanted them to, cureses that would run through whole bloodlines, blades that could slice through magic, armors that would endure a strike from a giant while the wearer felt nothing! Every secret, every _word_, every _TOME_ that he had discovered in his time he shared with _me and only me_! It was incredible." She pressed her palms to her eyes, her body quacking in rapture.

Sirius sneered. But only just. There was something in her voice, in her tone that clawed at his mind. '_It meant being bred and pampered like an exotic pet!'_ "So what Happened?"

She made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Her legs gave way and she sunk to the floor. "The illusion broke."

"What?"

"It was all a lie, a game to him. Teaching me, bringing me into the fold, all just a game. I wasn't a prized student to him, just a prize. Like a well trained race horse I was only there for him to show off, to say to the rest of the world 'look what I made'. I thought that he valued me, that he was raising me to be his equal, his successor if something ever happened, that he cared for me, that he..that I.. the praises he gave me. Gods, and our parents were so proud when they learned. Always encouraging me to stay close to him, to be by his side."

"But that wasn't it. I was just a prized pony, a well crafted blade. Perfectly honed, fit for showing around, parading and lording over others and using, but still just a tool. Still something dispensable. I was there to be his mindless shield from his enemies, the whip to crack over the others to keep them in line. A trained dog is valued, you want to make sure you don't lose it, that it never turns on you. But if you do.." She shrugged. "You can always just train a new one."

Sirius knelt and leaned against the bars. When was the last time he had ever seen her cry? He searched for a memory but none came.

She gave a loud sniff. "And then later, the things that he wanted done Sirius. The things he made me _do_. I was his right hand, an extension of his will, I couldn't be seen as weak." She was shaking now. "I hate Mudbloods Sirius, _hate them_. There whining children that think they know better than anyone else. I hate them and goblins and all the other lowly creatures. But-but, the things I did, the things I had to do. The screaming and nightmares, and horrors. I couldn't stand it! I thought Mum and Dad would help but they couldn't care less. 'It's needed Bella. These thing must happen Bella. You are doing the family proud dear.' I couldn't find you or Andromeda and I just couldn't bring myself to ask Cissy for help, not after all the hard work she did to stay out of things. But then Regulus, oh gods I talked him into it, I didn't want to be alone anymore. He was so happy and hopeful when I came to him and after he joined I stayed by his side. I told him it was to keep an eye on him but I was just being selfish. And it got him killed! Oh gods Sirry it's my fault. I could have warned him, I could have stopped him, oh gods! I could have warned the whole family. I could have stopped all of it, _oh gods_!" she collapsed into a heap of sobs and wails.

His grip on the bars was so tight that it set them rattling, his skin tight across his knuckles to the point of splitting. His emotions and thoughts a hurricane in his mind. "Why Bella, why didn't you stop, why didn't you leave?"

Through the sniffs and sobs he could barely hear her. "Because I was afraid."

The time that passed after that day was a trial for Sirius. Bellatrix's confession, her admittance to everything she's done, he didn't know how to handle it, how to handle her. A damn broke in her mind that made her spill years of horrors and pain for only him there to hear, for only him there to comfort or damn her. Her pain was like a pyre to the Dementors. Drawing them constantly to their cells, feeding off their pain, off her suffering, and at times when they came and he was safe in his small furry form he would watch and listen in horror to her broken please for salvation. Watching as what was left of her mind slowly chip away.

Part of him wanted to let it go on. To let her feel the pain and torment that she had unleashed upon countless others. So that she might feel just a fraction of their pain. Another side of him couldn't stop hearing his poor cousins screams.

"Bloody hell." He pushed himself from the ground, his arms sore and weak. His throat felt frozen and impossibly dry. Standing was too much work so he pushed and pulled himself to the water basin only to cure its height. The body needs proper motivation to do something it is so against but the lure of cold water was enough to give him the strength to stand for a drink, albeit needing to lean against the stone for support.

The Dementors were becoming more insistent with their feeding. They had taken to coming in groups. Sliding back to the ground he took to scraping the frost from his clothing and hair. Their cold had yet to fade from his cell, his breath was thick in front of his face. He shifted gingerly to his side, preparing to grow some fur and warm himself. But a whimper caught his ear. Biting his lip he tried his best to ignore it. To ignore her. But it came again, louder, harsher, hitting the note that strikes at the heart of all good men. Difficult to forsake impossible to ignore. That it was her making the sound, that he still wanted to care. He cursed himself, and crawled to the gate.

Her cell was dark, night on Azkaban made everything darker then should be possible and the lightning only served and making shadows thicker. He couldn't see her but he could hear her. Hear her whimpers and moan, her sobs and begs. He wanted so damn much to leave her to her suffering, leave her to the hell she brought herself to. Conjuring images and stories of all of the horrors that she had committed. All of the death and suffering, the loss and mutilation and fear and unforgivable atrocities that could be placed right at her feet. Part of him wanted to damn her.

Another part, a stronger part of himself was unable to remove the echoes from his mind. Echoes from the past eight mouths of her screaming and crying and _begging_ for release. Release from the pain, from the hopeless despair, from the endless nightmares that her own broken mind forced upon her. Crying to anyone, to _him_, that someone would forgive her. That someone would understand her plight.

He couldn't. he _shouldn't_. you can't just wash away that much blood with a few tears and apologies.

_'Why Bella, why didn't you stop, why didn't you leave?'_

_'Because I was afraid.'_

'Damn me.' Part of him couldn't forget his cousin.

"Bella." He called. Nothing.

"Bella!" Only more subs and the crackle of the storm.

"BELLY!" His old nickname for her. She always hated it.

"Sirius?" She sounded surprised and he didn't blame her, it was the first time he spoke to her in months.

His mouth felt dry again. Doubt scratching at his mind. _'Because I was afraid.'_ "Do you remember that one summer when we went to Moscow, on a visit with my parents to meet with the Goldaxe patriarch?" It was an old memory but one from a better time.

He saw her crawl over to her cells gate and he had to bite back a yelp when a flash a light showed her face. 'She's getting worse.' Her eyes were sunk deep into her head, her sick sagging loosely from every spot. She looked like someone that gave up on living. "Mmh, you mean that old bearded ox of a man?"

"I think that might have been his wife." He joked. The darkness didn't allow him to see if she smiled. "Remember his daughter? She most have been ten years older than us but I swear she had the mind of a toddler. Remember?"

The was a pregnant pause before. "I remember. Why are you talking about it?"

He licked his lips, cracked and scabbing despite the constant moisture. "In Azkaban happy memories are hard to come by. The Dementors toke most of them, perverting them into twisted fragments of themselves. The secret to not losing yourself if to find a memory any happy memory or as many as you can and hold onto it. Hold it in your heart and make it yours. Make it your center your core. Keep it with you like a fire and feed it so that it can only grow brighter and stronger."

"Like the Patronus charm?"

"Yes, exactly like a Patronus. Now think Bella, think of something happy, that made you happy. A memory of friends or an accomplishment."

"...why?"

"Why? Because it will help keep you sane that's why! Do you want to lose yourself to your own mind?!"

"No, why are you helping me?" Her voice was weak, to weak.

_'I couldn't find you..' _

_'Because I was afraid.'_

He bit the inside of his cheek. The taste of copper covering his tongue. 'Because I'm a damn fool.' "Because I want to believe in you." And he found himself wishing it true. He wanted there to still be some spark of the old Bellatrix still alive. Still shining under the monster that she became. _'_..._the things I did, the things I had to do. The screaming and nightmares, and horrors. I couldn't stand it!'_ No, he wanted to save what was left of her.

"I don't want to be sane. I want it to end. The water basins, I can't keep my head under. Something won't let me and those things won't let me starve."

He slapped the bars, pain rippling his hand. "Don't you dare talk like that! You've never given up on anything before don't you dare start now. Now think damn you, think of something bloody happy!"

"I can't, I can't think straight anymore Sirry."

"If I can do it in this place then you definitely can!"

"...what's yours?"

"What?"

"Your thoughts, your happy memory, what s it?"

She was staring at him from the floor. Eyes small and void of life, of hope. He licked at his lips more to out of habit than anything else. what was his happy though, the one thing that kept him sane even in the heart of hell? "My god son." It came as a whisper, soft and peaceful. The very act of saying it was enough to bring him comfort unimaginable to any other that stayed rotting in this waking terror.

"What?"

"My god son, Harry. James and Lilly's son."

She saw how his shoulders sagged, how the stress melted from his face. The Potter boy, the child that ended Voldemort. That was where he found his peace? "Tell me about him."

He rested against the bars, eyes looking away into a long past time. "I was there when he was born." He started, allowing his mouth to work while his mind wandered. "James and Lilly were hectic for weeks leading up to the delivery. They fretted and fussed about every little detail even after he was born. From the color of the nursery to what clothes he should wear. The way they talked you would forget that there was a war going on. And when he was born James was so proud he started to cry like a damn fool. He-he was a mess. Sniffling and shaking, I was half afraid he was going to drop Harry when he was handed to him."

"They had to go into hiding before he was born because of the..because Dumbledore said it was for the best. They hated it, hated the thought of hiding away while old noseless was still running around but me and Dumbledore managed to talk them into it, and once Harry was born they finally stopped bitching about it. I bought his this broom." He started to laugh. "A little toy broom with a built in seat that he could sit on and fly around without falling. Oh Lilly hated me for that but him and James loved it. We would invite Andromeda over and she would bring little Nymphadora and I would spend the day just chasing them around the house."

"Only a few months old and he already had James' love for flying. Doesn't look a thing like him though. He has his nose for sure but that's about it." He leaned back with a loud sniff, running his hand through his hair. "About a month before...before they died. They had a get together with the Longbottoms. I still don't know how but somehow Harry managed to squeeze himself and Neville into the broom and fly themselves onto the roof. The bloody thing wasn't suppose to go more than a foot from the ground but somehow he got it up there. I thought Augusta was going to have a heart attack. The little idiots sat at the edge and waved down to us. None of us had our wands on us either so we were clustered under them trying to tell _toddlers_ how to fly a broom back down safely. Then they just decided to _walk_ off the edge. Lilly screamed James screamed Alice and Augusta cursed. But Harry just grabbed Neville and yanked him back onto the broom with him and the two just floated down. Lilly broke the thing over my head after that."

There was silence for a time. Those memories were a double edged blade for him. The joy they filled him with came with the reality that his two friends were dead and their son was placed wherever Dumbledore thought was a good place.

"I didn't kill him."

"What?" Bellatrix was sitting up now, looking at him with slumped shoulders.

"The Longbottom boy. Rodolphus heard about the prophesy. That's what you were going to say right, they had to hide because of the Prophesy?"

"How did.."

"I am, was, Voldemorts right hand. He told me everything. Rodolphus wanted to kill the Longbottom boy because of it, because we couldn't find Potter. I told him it was a stupid idea but he was insistent."

"Then why did you go?"

She shrugged. "I was angry, lost, the world I forced myself to except was just torn down by an infant I wanted some way to hit back. When we raided the house Rodolphus and Rabaston were dueling with Alice and Frank so I went to find the brat. He was there in his nursery crying his head off. I pointed my wand at him. Held it right to his throat." She stopped, pulling her legs up to rest her head on them. "But I couldn't do it. I have killed children before, it was nothing new, some younger some older then he was. But I just couldn't do it."

Sirius stared shocked at her. He was certain when she first told him that they attacked Frank and Alice that Neville suffered with them. "Why?"

"I don't know. I guess it was because of what he was. There was a chance that this squealing pink thing could have done what your god son did. Ended Voldemort. I guess some part of me felt that if I didn't kill him then in some way, in some asinine way, it would be me that caused his downfall. So I placed him under a sleeping charm and stuffed him into the closet with a few temporary shields. By then the others finished with his parents and I told them that he wasn't there. So they took out there frustration on the two. I was confused and pissed so I helped them before the Aurors showed up."

"You wanted to strike back a Voldemort, that's why you spared him?"

"Yes."

"But, then why? If you hated him that much, if you hated what he made you do that much then why did you still serve him the way you did? Why did you torture Frank and Alice?"

She thought for a moment. "When people are forced into something, when they are weighed under a pressure that they can't escape, like this place, there are really only two things they can do. They can give in and die or they can adapt. By the time I realized what his goals were, when I learned what kind of _man_ he really was I was already in too deep to back out. The dark mark was on my arm and I was too much of a coward to fight back. So I adapted. I was told to do horrible things and I learned to love them _forced _myself to love them, and with each task I completed I placed myself in a better light with him. For a time I was ok with it. He would teach me and praise me more and I would fulfill his every order just to please him. But the more I did for him the more horrible the next task would be and I saw the cycle I damned myself to and that's when I realized, that's when I finally saw him for what he really was. He never cared about the Magical world, about me. All he cared about was his own status, his own power. He only said he cared about pure-blood supremacy because he knew it would gain him a powerful following. But it was too late for me to do anything. My hands were to red for anyone to forgive me and I soaked myself in too many horrors, and learned to love them too much to try and be anything else."

"But now, in this place I just can't bring myself to adapt anymore. I don't have it in me. I don't have any happy times to fall back to like you do, none that I didn't screw up with my own hands. There nothing I can do in here."

"...do you have an animagus form?"

"What? Yes, why?"

"The Dementors can't sense animals like they do humans, there almost blind to them or maybe they just can't feed off of them so they don't bother. A week after they threw me in here I morphed in a panic. Wasn't sure why though, I guess I thought I would just bite the bastard that was going to make me a meal but when it floated in it just glance around like it was lost before it left. As did the next two and it seems that the ghouls aren't to bright because they never cause a fuss over it. That our they just have too much food laying about to care"

"You're an animagus, why didn't they place wards around you?"

He cleared his throat. "It's not exactly public knowledge."

And for the first time in a long time Bellatrix let out an honest laugh. "Only you would do something stupid and illegal and have it work in your favor."

"Yeah well what can I say, I'm amazing."

"Sure. If transforming works like you say then why don't you just stay that way?"

"I don't know if they would still bring up food if I did and it takes to much energy to change consistently. So I would suggest eating some moss and changing now until our next meal. Hopefully it won't be to long away."

"Why are you telling me this now? Why are you helping me Sirius?"

He didn't need to think this time. _'I couldn't find you..'_ "Because I abandoned you once before, I won't make that mistake again."

"...thank you."

He nodded even though she couldn't see it. "Now shut up and eat your floor salad."

"Prick."

"Scathing. I sure hope your animal form has fur like mine does, it's oh so comfortable, and _warm_."

"Gods you are such an arse!" Her voice was muffled he guessed she was speaking around a mouth full. "What is your form anyway a donkey? It sure would fit."

"Nope, it's a dog."

"You mean you're a mutt?"

"Shut up and change!"

There was silence for a moment and he wondered if she had done it yet or if she was still eating. A bolt a lightning flashed and he saw her. Tall pointed ears on a large angled face resting on a small furry body. Wide eyes shining in the light and glowing in the dark. "You would be a bloody cat wouldn't you?" She hissed at him. "What even is that a bobcat or something, a lynx?"

_REEOOWW_

Scoffing he moved onto his hands and knees before feeling his bones shift and his body shrink. He barked at her once and curled up to sleep.

He crashed back to the floor, his sides felt like fire. He struggled for breath before a boot connected with his ribs. "Where is he Black, who took him!"

"I told you I don't know!" It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible. Harry, the Dursleys, gone, attack, missing. His mind couldn't grasp anything. How did this happen? He looked back up to the Aurors, the team that was sent to interrogate him. Vaguely he could hear them doing the same to Bella. "Please you have to believe me I would never hurt him, any of them. I didn't kill James HE WAS MY FRIEND! Please just let me help look for him, please he's my god son please!" His eyes were burning, hysteria overtaking his rationality. Harry couldn't be gone he just couldn't. Dumbledore was suppose to keep him safe, why was he at the Dursleys? Did other Death eaters find him? Was it... "Peter, it had to be Peter! Please you have to let me out I have to find him!"

Pain exploded across his jaw his mind went blank for a moment. When he came back to himself he was held against the wall again. "Don't you fuck with us! Pettigrew is dead, you killed him! Now I'll ask you again. Which one of your accomplishes kidnapped Potter?"

"Please you have to believe me please, _PLEASE!"_ His cries fell on deaf ear. It went one for hours. Nothing he said would convince them, would make them believe his innocence. In the end they left he a blooded mess on the floor. Still crying. "Please you have to believe me, please."

A gurgle of colors and places sounds sights and smells.

_The forming storm made the night sky dark, cloudless, perfect. A wind picked up around him and he let it push him on, as if the gods themselves sanctified his mission. _

The world around him was mounds of dust in the wind.

_He saw the house now. Now that he knew where to look, how to look. It was such a simple thing. Two stories in a cape cod style. Striding up to the door he flicked his hand. It exploded into dust._

_"Lilly it's him take Harry and run!"_

The people were blurs. Shadows being cast from a flame.

_He watched the women run up the stairs taking them three at a time, a bundle held to her chest. The man sent a bolt at him but he slapped it aside with his wand. Normally he would play with him, a small token for their stupidity for facing him. But the matter at hand was too precious to afford the luxury._

_"Avada Kedavra." With a flash of green he fell dead._

_The women barded herself behind a door with only a set of pitifully weak barriers. _

_"Please, please not him, not him take me, please!"_

_He growled hate her. "Step aside women!" _

She didn't move. More yelling followed, more screaming more begging.

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_He turned to the crib._

A boy was in it. Sitting. Looking up at him with large green eyes. Red hair on his head.

_He pointed his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"_

"Ah!" Harry bolted up. Sweat drenched his face as he gasped for breath. Rays of light shown through the cracks in the walls and boarded windows.

'A dream.'

He wiped the sweat from his brow and his hand came back bloody.


End file.
